£3-  / 


0  ITT. 


bjjpoks  are  "keys 

^5  )  to  wisdom's  treasure; 

^I/Boohs  are  paths 

that  upward  lead; 
Books  are   dates 

to  lands  oP  pleasure; 
Books  are  friends, 
'Come,  let  us  read. 

THIS  5OO1C  5ELONGSTO 


VJfllli 


Le\  ilt 


ZtifT. 


*-*»j^.,j^    *a*t^***s-'<*rms*   /  of""**'*    **.t*^v*v<«    ^4T**>  -A    yO 

/•• 
" 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 


"  They  've  done  it,"  groaned   Stephen   Mallabee,  as  he  recovered 
from  the  shock  and  arose  to  his  feet. 

FRONTISPIECE.     See  Page  266. 


A  SIREN  OF  THE 
SNOWS 


BY 

STANLEY  SHAW 


WITH   ILLUSTRATION  BY 

DOUGLAS   DUER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1915, 
Br  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


Published  March,  1915 


printers 
8.  J.  PARKHILL  <fe  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


I.  THE  CAMP  ON  THE  LITTLE  BABOS    .       .  1 

II.  CASE  BM432 17 

III.  THE  EYES  AND  TEETH  OF  SIN  PETAIR  .  29 

IV.  A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT    ....  43 
V.  WHAT  CREWLY  DISCOVERED       ...  60 

VI.  THE  CAJOLING  OF  DAN  THE  SWEDE       .  68 

VII.  HATE  OF  THE  WOLF 80 

VIII.  THE  OLD  Fox  UNBENDS       .      .      .       .  97 

IX.  ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL        .      .      .      .115 

X.  FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD      ....  131 

XI.  INTO  THE  UNKNOWN 148 

XII.  NEWS    FROM   THE    NORTH         .         .         .         .162 

XIII.  BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED 173 

XIV.  THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN       .      .      .      .187 
XV.  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  NIGHT         .       .  205 

XVI.  A  DISCOVERY! 217 

XVII.  CRAGGMORIE 226 

XVIII.  THE  WINKING  LIGHTS 238 

XIX.  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 252 

XX.  ENGULFING  WATERS 262 

XXI.  THE  FROZEN  MAN 276 

XXII.  THE  MESSAGE 290 

XXIII.  VANISHING  HOPES 308 

XXIV.  THE  LIGHT  O'  LOVE  322 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

i 


F 


THE    CAMP   ON    THE   LITTLE    BABOS 

OR  about  the  tenth  time  that  afternoon  Jensen 
drew  the  note  from  his  pocket  and  reread  it : 


"  You  will  immediately  proceed  to  the  camp  on  the  Little 
Babes,  as  per  previous  instructions,  and  await  a  messenger 
from  the  North.  This  note  will  identify  you." 

That  was  all:  as  curt  and  incisive  as  the  crack  of 
a  whip;  probably  quite  as  fruitful  of  meaning  to 
some  one  as  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States; 
yet  almost  as  blank  to  Jensen  as  though  the  crumpled 
bit  of  fine,  crinkly  paper  were  not  marked  with  inky 
tracings  expected  to  convey  an  actual  message. 

It  was  written  on  the  most  expensive  variety  of 
parchment  paper  with  thick  black  ink.  Jensen  re 
membered  to  have  seen  such  dense  ink  employed  by 
artists,  and  he  early  discovered  that  this  ink  was 
waterproof;  but  never  before  had  he  known  ink  so 
thick  to  be  used  for  writing  purposes ;  it  was  almost 
as  if  each  sentence  had  been  heavily  embossed. 


2        A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Jensen  threw  the  sheet  down  on  the  rough,  pine 
shelf-table  beneath  the  window  and  gazed  specula- 
tively  out  across  the  river. 

To  the  north  lay  Ungava  and  the  vast  Arctic  soli 
tudes.  From  there  who  was  coming  ?  Was  it  white 
man  or  Esquimau,  half-breed,  or  what?  Would  he 
be  armed;  would  he  be  frankly  antagonistic,  or  dis 
posed  to  friendship?  And  what  would  he  bring? 
That,  after  all,  was  the  most  important  question  to 
Jensen;  the  others  were  matters  of  personal  equa 
tion,  and  he  felt  qualified  to  handle  them  properly 
when  they  came  to  the  surface.  But  on  just  what 
this  "  messenger  from  the  ISTorth "  would  bring 
hinged  the  success  or  failure  of  Jensen's  heart-break 
ing  journey  into  this  land  of  silence,  solitude,  and 
starvation,  that  had  finally  brought  him  to  this 
rough,  but  comfortable,  three-room  cabin  on  the  edge 
of  the  Little  Babos  Eiver. 

It  had  been  a  heart-breaking  journey ;  but  at  almost 
every  mile  of  the  way  Jensen  had  found  new  cause 
for  wonder.  All  along  the  three  hundred  odd  miles 
from  Lake  Lucann  to  this  camp  on  the  Little  Babos, 
the  trail  had  been  almost  unmistakable;  it  could 
easily  have  been  followed  by  a  lesser  woodsman  than 
Alan  Jensen;  and  at  reasonable  intervals  he  had 
found  comfortable  camps,  fuel,  and  food,  all  open  to 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS         3 

the  traveler.  None  of  the  previous  halting  places  had 
been  quite  so  well  fitted  out  as  this  one  at  Little 
Babos ;  yet  they  were  all  astonishingly  elaborate  for 
this  section  of  the  country  and  indicated  that  this 
trail  was  one  frequently  traversed,  in  season,  at 
least.  Yet  not  a  solitary  white  man  had  Jensen 
met  on  all  his  journey.  That  was  strangest  of  all. 

Here  and  there  he  had  run  into  breed  trappers; 
but  as  he  came  within  their  sight,  they  had  fled  from 
him  as  though  he  were  the  plague.  Once  he  had 
stumbled  upon  a  camp  of  wandering  Crees,  and 
though  he  knew  well  enough  the  Indians  understood 
his  questions,  they  refused  to  give  him  a  word  of  in 
formation  and  vanished  like  wraiths  in  the  wind  the 
moment  he  fell  asleep  by  the  fire.  It  was  all  very 
puzzling  and  very  unusual ;  yet  Jensen  felt  that  per 
haps  this  very  condition  of  things  had  alone  made  it 
possible  for  him  to  penetrate  so  far  north  along  what 
he  had  come  to  call  in  his  own  mind  "  the  blank  trail," 
for  blank  it  was  to  him  with  its  myriad  puzzling 
features. 

Alan  Jensen  was  a  somewhat  new  and,  so  far, 
rather  unimportant  cog  in  that  vast  machinery  of 
precautionary  measures  the  United  States  Govern 
ment  maintains  to  guard  the  permanence  of  its  peace, 
the  lives  of  its  chief  executives,  and  the  purity  of  its 


4        A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

coinage.  His  earliest  dreams  had  leaned  toward  the 
diplomatic  service;  leadership  in  college  athletics  had 
dispelled  the  idea  of  that  inactive  life,  and  close  com 
panionship  with  the  son  of  Chief  Hilkie  of  the 
Secret  Service  had  given  birth  to  a  longing  to  enter 
the  latter  profession.  Chief  Hilkie  had  tried  to  dis 
suade  him  by  describing  the  hardships,  the  slowness 
of  promotion,  and  the  lonely,  ascetic  existence  with 
out  close  friends  necessarily  led  by  its  men;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  dampen  Jensen's  boyish  enthusi 
asm,  and  he  entered  the  Secret  Service  very  soon 
after  his  graduation. 

The  Secret  Service  is  indeed  a  lonely  life,  in  which 
a  man  can  make  few  intimate  friends ;  in  fact,  he  can 
seldom  make  intimates  of  his  co-workers  and,  very 
likely,  does  not  know  by  sight  half  a  dozen  other 
Secret  Service  operatives,  either  male  or  female. 
There  is  on  record  a  case  where  one  agent  even  trailed 
a  suspected  person  half  way  across  the  continent  and 
back  before  he  discovered  that  his  quarry  was  another 
employee  of  the  Service  working  on  the  same  case. 
Though  sometimes  leading  to  unimportant  errors 
such  a  condition  is  necessary. 

For  a  time  Jensen's  splendid  physique  had  been 
the  cause  of  his  appointment  as  personal  bodyguard 
to  the  nation's  chief  executive.  Now  he,  like  nearly 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS         5 

every  other  unit  in  the  great  Service,  was  working  on 
one  of  the  most  puzzling  cases  that  ever  came  to  the 
surface,  the  one  that  is  cryptically  set  down  in  the 
government  records  as  "  Case  BM432." 

As  Jensen  gazed  out  from  the  cabin  window  across 
the  Little  Babos,  he  saw  thin,  filmy  cloud  racks  rac 
ing,  high  up,  across  the  northern  sky;  lower  down 
were  ugly  gray  mountains  of  heavier  vapor  that  he 
knew  must  be  an  early  winter  storm  swiftly  coming 
his  way.  Was  it  driving  before  it  that  mysterious 
"  messenger  from  the  North,"  he  wondered.  Unless 
the  wind  changed,  or  he  arrived  soon,  this  messenger 
would  have  a  hard  time  of  it  beating  out  that  stub 
born  monster  of  biting  wind  and  freezing  sleet. 

As  he  watched  the  approaching  storm  from  the 
window,  Jensen  thought  again  what  a  reckless  under 
taking  it  had  been  to  come  alone  into  this  forsaken 
land,  where  winter  locks  everything  man  needs  se 
curely  in  her  icy  embrace  for  almost  nine  months  of 
the  year.  So  far,  severe  weather  had  held  off;  yet 
the  mild  season  might  close  up  without  a  moment's 
warning,  and  then  there  would  be  no  going  back.  It 
was  the  well-furnished  camps  he  had  found  along  the 
trail  that  had  led  him  on ;  these  and  the  overmaster 
ing  ambition  to  accomplish  something  for  the  Service. 
He  was  a  recruit,  and  he  had,  in  full,  the  recruit's 


6         A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

desire  to  set  the  river  on  fire  at  the  very  beginning. 
This  ambition  sometimes  overcame  his  sounder  com 
mon  sense  and  made  him  venture  where  a  more  sea 
soned  man  would  have  considered  matters  the  second 
time. 

Darkness  was  beginning  to  fall.  Jensen  threw 
fresh  logs  on  the  fire  and  sat  down  to  wait  and  muse, 
as  he  had  been  waiting  and  musing  for  six  days.  He 
had  found  the  shack  well  stocked ;  there  was  corn  and 
flour,  both  a  bit  weevilly  from  the  summer  heat,  but 
the  weevils  could  easily  be  picked  out.  And  there 
was  sugar,  ham,  bacon,  and  coffee ;  the  ham  harbored 
a  few  skippers;  but  the  coffee  was  Yarguli  at  two- 
fifty  the  pound  wholesale  —  when  it  can  be  obtained 
at  all,  for  it  is  very  rare !  With  that  glorious  drink 
of  the  gods  available,  Jensen  felt  that  a  skipper  more 
or  less  in  the  ham  mattered  little.  Certainly,  who 
ever  stocked  the  shack  knew  what  superb  coffee  was 
and  good  tobacco,  for  Jensen  had  found  a  sixteen- 
pound  tin  of  real  Louisiana  Perique,  than  which 
there  is  no  stronger  or  sweeter  weed  grown  on  the 
surface  of  this  globe;  he  is  indeed  a  man  whose 
physique  can  stand  up  under  its  powerful  fumes.  To 
Jensen  it  made  the  lonely  days  in  the  Little  Babos 
camp  almost  enjoyable. 

But  there  were  no  candles,  no  coal  oil,  no  spirits ; 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS         7 

nothing  with  which  to  make  a  light.  Jensen  puzzled 
much  over  this  odd  circumstance.  Plenty  of  wood, 
cut  and  stacked;  ample  to  eat  for  months;  matches, 
but  no  light.  Why  ?  It  was  odd. 

The  colder  air  was  beating  down  from  the  sky 
heights  now,  shaking  the  cabin  door;  the  sparks  of 
the  fire  raced  up  the  chimney  in  a  wilder  whirl, 
drawn  by  the  fierce  drafts  above.  Twice  Jensen  got 
up  and  opened  the  door,  thinking  some  one  was  ham 
mering  upon  it  with  fists,  only  to  find  he  had  been 
fooled  by  the  wind.  After  six  days  of  almost  deadly 
silence,  with  scarcely  a  leaf  stirring,  this  unwonted 
noise  and  movement  was  rather  getting  on  his  nerves ; 
it  made  him  feel  peculiar,  as  if  he  were  drawn  to  run 
about  and  dance ;  sing ;  do  anything  to  get  in  temper 
with  the  wild  wind.  Several  times  he  found  himself 
leaping  up  from  his  bench  before  the  fire  at  the  mere 
sound  of  a  dead  tree  crashing  down  outside. 

This  condition  of  nerves  was  unusual  for  a  man  of 
Jensen's  splendid  physical  structure;  yet  there  were 
several  things  that  contributed  to  it.  For  one  he 
knew  he  had  no  right  in  the  camp ;  this  was  another 
man's  cabin  that  he  had  pre-empted.  And  there  had 
been  the  constant  uncertainty  for  days  of  hourly  ex 
pecting  the  arrival  of  the  "messenger  from  the 
North."  These  things,  together  with  an  annoying 


8        A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

slash  he  had  given  his  left  wrist  with  the  axe  while 
cutting  up  firewood  a  few  days  previous,  had  irri 
tated  his  nerves  to  an  unusual  degree.  The  injury 
to  his  arm  had  failed  to  heal  as  it  ought,  had  swelled 
somewhat,  and  occasionally  throbbed  with  pain. 

He  got  up,  filled  his  bulldog  tenderly  with  the 
precious  curly,  black  product  of  St.  James'  parish; 
lit  the  pipe  with  a  live  coal  from  the  fire,  and  felt 
more  calm  as  the  sweet  herb  soothed  his  senses  and 
sent  his  thoughts  wandering  along  pleasant  back  paths 
while  the  storm  raged  outside. 

Jensen  had  all  but  fallen  into  a  state  of  half 
dreamy  dozing  when  he  awoke  with  a  start,  every 
sense  alert,  every  splendid  muscle  tense.  There  was 
some  one  pounding  on  the  door  now,  he  was  certain 
of  it;  and  he  could  hear  dogs  barking  outside.  A 
sense  of  relief  came  to  him,  a  feeling  of  joy  that  a 
conflict  of  wits,  perhaps  of  physical  strength,  was 
impending;  for  this  must  be  the  mysterious  messen 
ger  from  the  North.  Now  things  would  start  mov 
ing,  and  it  must  be  give  and  take ;  he  was  glad. 

Jensen  got  up  from  the  bench  before  the  fire  with 
a  smile  on  his  face.  With  steel  tendons  poised  for 
anything,  prepared  to  strike  or  guard,  as  the  need 
called,  he  strode  toward  the  door,  drew  back  the 
heavy  bar,  and  threw  it  wide. 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS         9 

"  Whe-e-w !  But  that  fire  looks  damn  comfort 
ing.  This  is  an  early  sizzler  that's  come  tearing 
down  from  the  pole,  but  it  can  bite  all  right," 
boomed  a  deep  contralto  voice,  and  Jensen  nearly 
dropped  to  his  knees  with  amazement  and  the  sud 
den  relaxation  of  his  tense  muscles. 

No  half-breed,  no  Esquimau,  not  even  a  white  man, 
was  this  person  who  entered  the  door  and  pushed 
past  him  toward  his  roaring  fire.  Instead,  a  woman 
—  young,  fair-skinned,  and  fur-clad  —  stood  there 
drawing  off  a  pair  of  fur  mittens  and  holding  dainty 
fingers  toward  the  blaze;  yes,  ring-clad  fingers,  too; 
Jensen  caught  the  glitter  of  diamonds  on  those  same 
dainty  fingers.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  wondered 
if  he  were  dreaming.  And  she  certainly  had  said, 
"Damn!" 

He  finally  decided  he  must  be  dreaming.  As  he 
looked  at  her  again,  he  decided  it  was,  on  the  whole, 
a  mighty  pleasant  sort  of  a  dream  to  have. 

Too  amazed  to  speak,  yet  with  thoughts  madly 
foraging  across  a  vast  field  of  speculation,  Jensen 
stood  gazing  at  this  young  woman  who  had  so  unex 
pectedly  invaded  the  solitude  of  the  Little  Babos 
camp.  Who  was  she,  and  where  had  she  come  from  ? 

Toward  him  she  had,  apparently,  not  even  glanced, 
as  yet.  Drawing  the  bench  he  had  just  left  closer 


10      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

toward  the  blaze,  she  sat  down  and  began  to  com 
fortably  toast  her  toes  as  she  continued  to  hold  her 
palms  out  to  the  grateful  warmth. 

She  was  rather  tall  than  short,  and  her  form  was 
nicely  rounded.  A  full  skirt  of  heavy  garnet  mack- 
inaw  reached  below  her  brown  bloomered  knees,  and 
soft  tan  pacs  covered  her  trim  feet  and  ankles  to  the 
edge  of  the  skirt.  She  wore  a  jacket  of  black  fox, 
tremendously  expensive  fur,  as  Jensen  well  knew, 
and  a  fox  hood  was  thrown  back  from  her  head, 
permitting  a  cloud  of  spun-gold  hair  to  fall  about 
her  glowing  cheeks  in  fascinating  tangles  of  disorder 
into  which  the  storm  had  recently  tossed  it.  Her 
trim,  well  filled  form  indicated  the  athletic  girl  of 
outdoor  tendencies. 

Jensen  gained  the  elusive  impression  as  he  looked 
at  her,  partly  from  the  manner  in  which  she  had 
moved  toward  the  fire,  partly  from  her  well  mani 
cured  fingers  and  the  proud  and  graceful  poise  of 
her  head  as  she  sat  there,  that  this  was  a  young  woman 
accustomed  to  the  finer  things  of  life,  brought  up 
according  to  the  dictates  of  the  best  breeding  among 
people  of  a  high  station. 

He  decided  that  a  modest  cough  would  be  the 
proper  thing  to  call  her  attention  to  his  presence  in 
the  room. 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS       11 

"  Ahem !  "  It  was  more  a  roar  than  a  modest 
cough  that  he  gave  vent  to  in  his  excitement,  but  it 
served. 

With  an  obvious  start  of  astonishment,  the  young 
woman  turned  rosy  cheeks  and  somber  brown  eyes 
away  from  the  blazing  fire,  glanced  Jensen's  way, 
and  a  look  of  blank  amazement  overspread  her  fea 
tures. 

"  Why !  why !  why !  "  she  cried  in  crescendo. 
"  Isn't  this  the  Little  Babos  camp  ?  " 

Then,  as  Jensen  stood  stiffly  and  nodded  his  head 
in  answer,  she  gazed  about  the  room  and  continued : 

"  Of  course  it  is ;  I  knew  I  could  not  have  gotten 
off  the  trail ;  but  who,  who  are  you  ? " 

Jensen's  heart  became  less  buoyant  as  he  listened. 
This  young  woman  was  giving  him  excellent  evidence 
that  it  was  she  who  was  "  the  messenger  from  the 
North  "  alluded  to  in  the  note,  and  Jensen  felt  rather 
certain  that  whatever  else  the  messenger  from  the 
North  might 'be,  she  was  engaged  in  a  most  disreput 
able  business,  a  business  against  which  his  United 
States  had  formed  drastic  laws  and  created  powers  of 
condign  punishment. 

Alan  Jensen  had  never  been  much  of  a  ladies'  man ; 
he  was,  by  nature,  too  bashful,  and  this  young  woman 
was  almost  overwhelming  him  with  the  sense  of  her 


12       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

beauty  and  the  fascination  of  those  sad  brown  eyes 
that  were  so  puzzling  in  their  glance. 

For  answer  to  her  question  of  who  he  was,  Jen 
sen  merely  nodded  toward  the  note  lying  upon  the 
table;  more  he  did  not  dare  say.  If  things  were  to 
be  kept  straight  and  she  unsuspicious,  the  note  alone 
would  do  it.  Jensen  knew  he  was  floundering  in 
decidedly  deep  and  murky  water,  with  the  message 
on  parchment  paper  his  only  hope  and  support. 

The  young  woman  arose  from  the  bench  before  the 
blaze,  picked  up  the  note,  and  read  it  in  the  firelight ; 
in  fact,  judging  by  the  length  of  time  she  held  it  in 
her  hands  with  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  writing, 
Jensen  was  certain  she  must  have  read  it  through 
several  times,  or  else  she  was  appearing  to  do  so  in 
order  to  give  herself  an  opportunity  to  think  and 
consider. 

As  she  read,  Jensen  listened  to  the  wind  outside 
that  had  now  become  a  howling  hurricane,  and 
vaguely  wondered  what  would  happen  next,  for,  upon 
this  young  woman's  interpretation  of  the  curt  words 
written  upon  the  parchment  paper  depended  his  own 
future  actions,  perhaps  his  very  life. 

Finally  she  permitted  the  paper  to  flutter  to  the 
table  from  nerveless  fingers  as  she  turned  toward 
him  with  a  seemingly  bewildered  air. 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS       13 

"  But,  still  I  do  not  understand,"  she  declared  with 
frowning1  brows,  half  to  herself,  half  to  Jensen. 

Then  she  threw  up  her  head  with  a  decisive  mo 
tion  as  she  added :  "  Oh,  this  is  absurd ;  who  are 
you,  anyway  ?  If  you  know  what  you  are  here  for, 
you  do  not  need  to  act  like  a  bashful  child.  Don't 
try  any  damn  nonsense  with  me;  who  are  you, 
anyway  ? " 

Yes,  she  had  said  "  Damn,"  and  by  this  time  Jen 
sen  was  perfectly  certain  that  he  could  not  be  dream 
ing.  It  sounded  to  him  almost  proper,  so  uncon 
sciously  had  she  used  it;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  she 
had  seemed  to  take  particular  pains  that  his  ear  should 
not  miss  the  expletive.  There  was  still  no  clue  for 
Jensen  to  go  upon  in  shaping  his  immediate  actions ; 
he  had  no  exact  idea  who  he  ought  ta  be;  he  could 
but  stand  there  and  stammer  like  a  lost  child. 

"  They  sent  me  up  here,"  he  said,  and  hoped  that 
"  they  "  might  mean  more  to  her  than  it  did  to  him. 
"  They  told  me  the  note  would  explain.  I  am  a 
new  man  on  this,  and  I  don't  think  you  would  recog 
nize  my  name,  anyway."  He  caught  her  quick 
frown  of  impatience  and  continued: 

"  Still,  if  you  must  know,  my  name  is  Kerrison, 
Alan  Kerrison." 

Somehow,   Jensen   felt  that  he  would   like  this 


14       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

young  woman  to  know  his  true  given  name;  of 
course  it  was  nonsensical,  but  that  was  the  way  he 
was  beginning  to  feel  about  it,  so  deeply  had  those 
sad  eyes  shining  from  that  beautiful  face  touched 
him.  His  errand  into  the  North  had  to  do  with 
gold;  old  J.  J.  Kerrison  controlled  the  Colrain  and 
Communapair  gold  mines,  the  richest  in  the  world. 
Jensen  had  been  thinking  about  old  "  J.  J."  that 
day,  although  he  had  never  spoken  to  the  man  in  the 
flesh,  never  had  even  the  remotest  dealings  with  him. 
Thus  Kerrison  happened  to  be  the  first  family  name 
that  popped  into  his  head  at  the  moment,  and  he 
brazenly  appropriated  it  for  his  own  use. 

On  this  impatient  young  woman  standing  before 
him  Jensen's  utterance  of  the  name  Kerrison  ap 
peared  to  have  an  effect  almost  electrical ;  her  hands 
flew  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  drew  back  as  though  a 
snake  had  confronted  her. 

"  Kerrison !  "  she  repeated.  "  Why,  that  is  my 
name.  Are  you  chaffing  me,  or  are  you  really  a  Ker 
rison  ?  I  don't  believe  it ;  you  haven't  the  look.  No, 
I  know  well  enough  you  are  not  a  Kerrison ;  you  are 
simply  lying.  Stop  this  absurd  nonsense  and  tell 
me  who  you  are  and  what  you  are  here  for !  " 

She  was  obviously  becoming  very  impatient  if  not 
even  angry.  Her  brown  eyes  beneath  the  shadow  of 


CAMP  ON  LITTLE  BABOS       15 

blond  hair  snapped  warningly.  Yet,  for  the  life  of 
him,  Jensen  did  not  know  how  to  proceed  with  her. 
He  felt  that  complete  silence  could  get  him  into  no 
worse  mess  than  if  he  were  to  talk,  so  he  merely  gave 
a  throaty  and  deferential  "  Ahem !  "  and  nodded  once 
more  toward  the  note  on  the  table.  If  she  did  not 
understand  that  note,  he  felt  he  was  indeed  at  sea  with 
her. 

But  she,  evidently  having  had  quite  enough  of  his 
note  business,  merely  stepped  back  and  sat  again  on 
the  bench  staring  angrily  at  him  as  though  he  were 
a  schoolboy  caught  stealing  plums  in  an  orchard,  a 
lad  a  trifle  too  large  to  whip  and  a  little  too  simple- 
minded  to  scold,  such  a  one  as  women  sometimes 
imagine  they  may  quell  with  a  look  meant  to  be  very 
stern. 

"  Now  I've  got  her  guessing ;  she  is  as  undecided 
what  to  do  next  as  I  am,"  thought  Jensen.  "  That's 
an  advantage  in  my  corner.  I'll  hold  it."  Inci 
dentally  he  also  thought  to  himself  for  about  the 
third  time :  "  She  is  certainly  one  mighty  hand 
some  girl." 

It  is  uncertain  how  long  Jensen  might  have  stood 
there  in  silence  like  a  bashful  schoolboy  being  stared 
out  of  countenance  by  his  stern  teacher,  had  not 
chance  come  to  his  rescue  with  the  sound  of  a  tremen- 


16       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

dons  commotion  outside  among  the  dogs  that  had  re 
cently  arrived  with  the  young  woman.  There  was  a 
chorus  of  staccato  howls,  an  answering  series  of  ca 
nine  cries  in  the  distance,  coming  nearer,  nearer ;  then 
a  wild  jumble  of  snarls  as  the  two  forces  clashed  in 
conflict.  Evidently  more  visitors  were  arriving  at 
the  lonely  camp  on  the  Little  Babos. 


CASE   BM432 

IT  was  in  June,  previous  to  preparing  its  semi 
annual  report  of  conditions,  that  the  National 
Northern  Bank,  one  of  the  largest  single  depositories 
of  gold  in  the  United  States,  made  a  most  astound 
ing  discovery.  The  bank's  vast  treasure  of  coin  was 
being  carefully  weighed.  Sam  Kettle,  a  gigantic 
negro  porter,  was  lifting  the  canvas  bags  of  gold 
pieces  to  the  nicely  balanced  scales  when  one  bag 
suddenly  burst  open  at  the  side,  sending  a  stream 
of  double  eagles  pouring  out  upon  the  floor. 

The  negro,  in  attempting  to  prevent  the  rolling 
coins  from  disappearing  in  obscure  corners  of  the 
somewhat  poorly  lighted  weighing-room,  placed  his 
ponderous  foot  upon  several  as  they  spun  across  the 
floor.  The  heel  of  his  shoe  and  the  entire  weight 
of  his  body  coming  down  upon  the  edge  of  one  coin 
bent  it  double  with  such  force  that  it  snapped  into 
two  sections.  This  split  coin  was  observed  by  Mr. 
Atterbury,  one  of  the  officials  of  the  bank,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  standing  by  at  the  moment. 


18       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

With  a  bit  of  laughing  banter  to  Sam  about  break 
ing  up  the  monetary  standard,  Atterbury  picked  up 
the  two  pieces  of  coin,  declaring  that  he  would 
retain  them  as  a  souvenir  of  the  weight  of  Sam's 
foot. 

Upon  returning  to  his  private  office,  Atterbury 
stood  idly  for  a  moment  before  the  window  humming 
an  air  from  the  previous  evening's  opera  and  attempt 
ing  to  fit  the  broken  sections  of  coin  together  again. 

Suddenly .  the  official's  usually  florid  face  grew 
pale  as  milk;  his  jovial  voice  trailed  off  into  a  husky 
whisper,  and  his  eyes  seemed  about  to  burst  from 
their  sockets.  He  brought  the  two  halves  of  coin  into 
a  tiny  shaft  of  sunlight  that  some  architectural  over 
sight  permitted  to  filter  down  between  the  opposite 
skyscrapers,  and  the  words  "  God  in  Heaven !  "  es 
caped  from  his  dry  lips. 

The  interior  of  each  half  of  the  double  eagle  he 
held  between  his  shaking  fingers  was  a  peculiar,  por 
ous,  white  composition!  Outside  was  a  generous 
layer  of  undoubtedly  pure  gold ;  but  that  baser  metal 
within !  What  was  it  \  How  did  it  come  there  ? 
Atterbury  suddenly  felt  very  sick  in  the  region  where 
he  supposed  his  stomach  to  be. 

He  caught  up  the  inter-communicating  telephone 
on  his  desk  and  ordered  that  the  bag  of  coins  that 


CASE  BM432  19 

had  broken  open  be  brought  to  his  office  without  de 
lay. 

Sam  Kettle,  the  negro  porter,  his  good-natured  face 
adorned  with  an  expansive  grin,  came  in,  lugging  the 
repaired  coin  bag  in  his  arms.  Atterbury  broke  the 
seal  and  ordered  that  the  contents  be  dumped  upon 
his  desk.  As  he  brushed  aside  the  litter  of  papers, 
the  double  eagles  fell  into  a  glittering  heap  upon  the 
polished  wood,  and  the  tiny  shaft  of  sunlight  seemed 
to  edge  toward  them  as  if  jealous  of  this  more  impres 
sive  glow. 

Atterbury  picked  up  a  handful  of  the  coins  and 
rang  them,  one  by  one,  upon  the  desk  top.  Their  mel 
low  tinkle  was  pure  and  clear.  He  tried  a  second  fist 
ful  ;  only  the  true  ring  of  good  gold  coin  reached  his 
ear.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  turned  toward  the  dust- 
proof  glass  case  standing  against  the  wall  beside  the 
window,  pushed  back  the  sliding  door,  threw  one  of 
the  coins  into  the  tray  of  the  scales  therein  and 
matched  its  weight  with  a  pile  of  tiny  discs  selected 
from  a  shelf.  Atterbury  began  to  breathe  easier ;  the 
weight  was  absolutely  exact. 

He  tried  several  additional  coins  chosen  at  ran 
dom  from  the  pile  upon  his  desk,  only  to  find  no 
variance  in  their  weight.  Then  something  in  the 
grinning  features  of  Sam  the  porter,  who  had  watched 


20       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

his  motions  with  simple  interest,  prompted  Atter 
bury  to  make  a  third  test.  It  was  utter  foolishness, 
he  thought,  yet  he  knew  he  would  feel  easier  in  mind 
if  it  were  made. 

"  Here,  Sam,"  he  said,  spinning  one  of  the  double 
eagles  on  its  milled  edge  upon  the  floor,  "  jump  on 
that  with  your  heel  and  all  your  weight.  See  if  you 
can  break  it  as  easily  as  you  did  the  other  one  down 
in  the  weighing  room." 

This  was  pure  fun  for  Sam.  The  porter's  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  solid  flesh  and  bone  came 
down  upon  the  coin  with  a  crash  that  seemed  suffi 
cient  to  jar  the  bank  from  its  foundations. 

"  Yessah,  guess  I  done  split  him  dat  time,  by  de 
feel,  sah,"  declared  Sam,  as  he  stepped  off  the  coin. 

Atterbury  stooped  and  picked  up  the  gold  coin.  It 
was  doubled  upon  itself  and  cracked,  but  not  broken 
into  two  sections.  A  thin  line  of  white  showed  be 
neath  the  crack ! 

Shaking  like  a  man  with  the  palsy,  Atterbury 
ordered  that  a  handful  of  coins  be  chosen  from  each 
of  twenty  bags  stored  in  the  vaults  and  brought  to  him 
in  the  board  room.  There,  surrounded  by  ten  of  the 
bank's  hastily  summoned  highest  officials,  he  had  the 
coins  cut  into  halves;  after  which  eleven  men  with 
blue,  pasty  faces  walked  out,  believing  the  world  it- 


CASE  BM432  21 

self,  almost,  was  crumbling  about  their  official  heads. 
Every  coin  proved  to  be  a  clever  counterfeit ! 

Within  a  few  hours  the  Government  was  apprised 
of  the  facts,  and  gold  coins  were  being  tested  in  va 
rious  cities  of  the  Union,  only  to  reveal  that  the 
spurious  stuff  had  been  sown  broadcast. 

Owing  to  the  enormity  of  the  attempt,  and  to  sev 
eral  peculiar  features,  every  effort  was  made  to  keep 
the  case  secret;  the  treasury  officials  felt  that  were 
the  public  to  become  aware  of  the  large  amounts  of 
spurious  coin  in  circulation,  it  might  cause  a  panic. 
The  matter  went  on  record  simply  as  Secret  Service 
Case  BM432,  and  so  it  remained  for  many  days; 
one  of  the  greatest  mysteries  in  that  most  mysterious 
of  all  professions,  the  United  States  Secret  Serv 
ice. 

The  spurious  double  eagles  were,  to  all  outward 
appearances,  as  perfect  as  any  issued  from  the  United 
States  mint  itself.  The  weight  was  invariably  exact, 
the  ring  true.  Experts  declared  the  centers  of  the 
coins  to  consist  of  a  composition,  the  exact  nature  of 
which  the  Government  has  never  seen  fit  to  disclose. 
This  much  is  known,  however,  that  one  of  the  ele 
ments  in  this  composition  was  a  rare  metal,  obtained 
as  a  by-product  in  the  refining  of  pitchblende  to  se 
cure  radium.  The  true  ring  to  each  counterfeit  coin 


22       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

was  obtained  by  skilfully  "  tuning "  the  spurious 
metal  by  means  of  porous  spaces. 

It  was  the  fact  that  there  was  so  much  of  the  bad 
money  and  that  no  particular  section  of  the  United 
States  had  a  monopoly  of  it  that  made  the  case 
doubly  difficult  for  the  Secret  Service.  They  could 
discover  no  initial  source ;  it  seemed  to  have  appeared 
everywhere,  from  Portland,  Maine,  to  Portland,  Ore 
gon;  from  Brownsville,  Texas,  to  Pembina,  Minne 
sota.  And,  since  the  coins  were  outwardly  perfect, 
no  official  could  say  with  authority  how  long  the 
counterfeit  double  eagles  had  been  in  circulation;  it 
might  be  a  matter  of  years,  and  the  original  counter 
feiters  long  retired  from  business,  perhaps  now  liv 
ing  safely  abroad. 

Matters  went  on  until  July  with  Case  BM432  as 
baffling  a  mystery  as  it  had  been  in  the  beginning. 

On  the  sixth  day  of  July,  Chief  Hilkie  of  the 
United  States  Secret  Service  called  in  all  his  opera 
tives  who  were  working  on  the  case  and  distributed 
them  within  a  certain  distance  of  each  other  in  one 
unbroken  double  line  across  the  center  of  the  United 
States  from  coast  to  coast.  One  section  of  this  line 
had  orders  to  move  steadily  south,  the  other  north. 
The  chief  had  an  idea,  and  Chief  Hilkie's  ideas  were 
apt  to  be  things  of  considerable  importance. 


CASE  BM432  23 

Alan  Jensen  also  started  to  work  on  Case  BM432 
in  July.  Jensen  was  a  unit  in  the  line  of  Secret 
Service  men  raking  the  country  toward  the  north. 

Jensen  had  orders  to  search  for  signs  of  any  sus 
picious  parties  putting  gold  coins  into  circulation; 
to  look  for  traces  of  a  counterfeiting  plant,  and  to 
nose  out  the  source  of  the  mysterious  element  ob 
tained  from  pitchblende  which  the  chief  felt  to  be 
the  keynote  of  the  entire  affair.  Could  he  but  gain 
information  regarding  the  source  of  this  peculiar 
white  metal,  Chief  Hilkie  believed  the  rest  of  his 
case  would  be  but  child's  play. 

Journeying  through  northern  Vermont,  accord 
ing  to  instructions,  Jensen  had  stopped  one  night  in 
an  isolated  camp  of  French-Canadian  charcoal 
burners.  Here  he  found  another  stranger,  ill  and 
delirious,  being  cared  for  by  these  men;  they  de 
clared  the  sick  man  had  stumbled  into  the  hut  one 
evening  a  week  previous;  had  thrown  gold  coins 
right  and  left  and  stridently  demanded  that  they 
produce  "  that  bundle  of  furs  for  the  bank  and  let 
him  be  on  his  way."  There  was  also  more  babbling 
nonsense  the  charcoal  burners  did  not  understand 
and  did  not  remember. 

Knowing  that  banks  do  not  ordinarily  deal  in 
furs,  Jensen  asked  to  see  some  of  the  gold  coins 


24      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

tossed  about  by  the  sick  man  in  his  delirium.  Split 
ting  a  coin  with  an  axe  Jensen  discovered  the  in 
terior  to  consist  of  base  white  metal ! 

This  could  mean  much,  or  nothing,  as  Jensen 
realized.  The  sick  man  might  be  only  an  honest 
fur  trader,  innocently  having  some  of  the  counter 
feit  coin  in  his  possession.  Yet  it  offered  a  lead 
worth  following,  and  Jensen  volunteered  to  sit  up 
with  the  sick  man  through  the  night,  hoping  some 
thing  definite  might  be  pieced  together  from  his 
ravings. 

It  was  a  strange  mixture  of  sense  and  nonsense 
that  Jensen  listened  to  through  the  long  night,  while 
the  stolid  charcoal  burners  punctuated  the  hours 
with  snores  in  many  keys.  The  man  was  obviously 
well  educated,  for  he  often  spoke  in  good  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  there  was  considerable  talk  about  Argive 
Helen;  about  false-hearted  sirens  and  satyrs  who 
led  unsuspecting  mortals  across  fair  fields  into  con 
cealed  pits  of  destruction.  To  this  talk  Jensen  paid 
slight  attention,  deeming  it  mere  raving  of  delirium. 

Toward  morning  the  man  appeared  to  become 
more  rational,  and  Jensen  thought  he  gathered  that 
his  name  was  Tom  Springvale,  that  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Lake  Lucann,  Quebec,  where  he  "  would 
strike  Trail  Number  One  at  the  head  of  the  lake, 


CASE  BM432  25 

at  the  Yellow  Portage;  but  must  keep  carefully 
clear  of  Trail  Number  Two;  must  obtain  the  pack 
age  at  The  Little  Babos  camp  and  must  return  to 
New  York  without  delay."  These  seemed  to  be  in 
structions  the  sick  man  had  received,  for  he  re 
peated  them  again  and  again,  as  though  the  words 
had  been  ringing  through  his  mind  for  days.  At 
times  he  referred  to  "  Trail  Number  One "  as 
"  Dead  Man's  Trail." 

Jensen  remembered  a  Tom  Springvale  who  had 
played  quarterback  on  the  eleven  at  Harvard;  but 
that  chap  was  a  senior  while  Jensen  was  a  fresh 
man,  and  he  had  known  him  but  slightly.  Illness 
and  a  beard  had  so  altered  this  man's  features  that 
he  could  not  say  whether  it  was  the  same  Spring- 
vale  or  not.  He  seemed  to  remember  that  the 
Springvale  he  had  known  became  an  engineer  of 
some  kind. 

This  man  had  an  odd,  livid  scar  running  diago 
nally  from  his  right  temple  to  the  left  side  of  his 
mouth,  as  if  from  a  sabre  cut  or  something  of  that 
sort.  The  Springvale  Jensen  remembered  had  no 
such  scar  as  this  on  his  face  during  his  college  days ; 
he  would  certainly  have  recalled  it  if  he  had. 

Just  at  dawnbreak,  when  awakening  grunts  and 
animal-like  yawns  were  beginning  to  come  from  the 


26       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

surrounding  bunks  of  the  charcoal  burners,  Spring- 
vale  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  stared  wildly  at 
Jensen,  and  shouted :  "  This  is  the  last  lot ;  bring 
it  through  safely  at  any  cost." 

The  man  then  fell  back  weakly,  began  to  pick  at 
the  soiled  blanket  with  gaunt  fingers,  and  before  the 
sun  was  an  hour  high  he  was  dead. 

There  was  absolutely  nothing  in  the  traveler's 
pack  to  identify  him  further;  only  the  ordinary 
duffle  that  would  be  carried  by  a  person  journeying 
into  the  North  at  this  season  of  the  year. 

Jensen  remained  among  the  charcoal  burners  for 
a  day,  studying  them  closely  and  trying  to  decide 
what  it  was  best  to  do.  It  was  not  until  he  had 
made  certain  these  men  were  concealing  nothing, 
and  was  preparing  to  depart  on  his  way,  that  he 
discovered  the  note. 

Gathering  up  his  own  traps,  he  happened  to 
glance  beneath  the  bunk  where  the  stranger  had  died ; 
his  eye  was  caught  by  a  bit  of  white  paper.  Pick 
ing  this  up,  he  smoothed  it  out  and  read: 

"  You  will  immediately  proceed  to  the  camp  on  the  Little 
Babos,  as  per  previous  instructions,  and  await  a  messenger 
from  the  North.  This  note  will  identify  you." 

The  words  "  Little  Babos,"  coupled  with  what 
the  sick  man  had  said  in  his  more  rational  moments, 


CASE  BM432  27 

convinced  Jensen  that  this  note  must  have  been 
dropped  by  him.  He  left  the  charcoal  camp,  hur 
ried  to  the  nearest  city,  Burlington,  and  got  into 
telephonic  communication  with  his  chief.  Because 
of  having  chummed  with  his  son  at  college,  Jensen 
was  much  closer  to  Chief  Hilkie  than  the  ordinary 
Secret  Service  operative. 

Chief  Hilkie  was  rather  skeptical;  he  didn't 
think  it  promised  much.  The  man  was  probably 
a  Hudson's  Bay  Company  messenger.  The  Hud 
son's  Bay  posts  often  did  a  sort  of  banking  business. 
Still,  in  the  present  absolutely  blank  status  of  the 
case,  anything  in  the  slightest  degree  significant 
was  a  lead,  and  the  chief,  knowing  that  Jensen  had 
spent  many  vacations  in  the  north  woods  and  could 
easily  handle  himself  under  the  conditions  he  would 
meet  there,  ordered  him  to  go  to  Lake  Lucann,  find 
the  trail  to  the  Little  Babos  camp,  and  follow  it  up, 
representing  himself  as  a  deputy  of  the  man  Spring- 
vale,  who  had  died  in  the  charcoal  camp.  In  the 
meantime  the  chief  would  put  another  man  on  the 
back  track  from  the  charcoal  burner's  camp  and 
attempt  to  trace  out  Springvale  from  there. 

Arriving  at  Lake  Lucann,  Jensen  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  discovering  what  he  felt  certain  was  "  Trail 
Number  One."  An  unmistakable  outcropping  of  pe- 


28       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

culiar  yellow  clay  at  a  portage  near  the  head  of  the 
lake  pointed  the  way.  He  followed  this  trail,  becom 
ing  more  certain  with  the  passing  of  each  day  that 
it  must  produce  tangible  developments  in  Case 
BM432,  until  his  map  told  him  he  had  reached  the 
Little  Babos  River.  Here  he  found  the  completely 
equipped  camp  with  its  ample  stores,  and  here  he 
paused  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  messenger  from 
•the  North  referred  to  in  the  note  he  had  picked  up 
in  the  charcoal  burner's  hut. 


Ill 


UPON  hearing  the  commotion  outside  the  Lit 
tle  Babos  cabin,  Jensen  turned  toward  the 
door  and  threw  it  open.  Outside  the  storm  now 
raged  furiously;  a  wall  of  blinding  snow  and  sleet 
whirled  about  the  cabin.  He  could  barely  distin 
guish  a  horde  of  fighting  dogs  and  a  human  figure 
passing  among  them,  wielding  a  whip  with  no  mer 
ciful  hand.  Finally  the  snarls  turned  to  cringing 
whimpers,  and  Jensen  saw  a  man  accompanied  by  a 
single  animal  come  running  toward  the  shaft  of 
firelight  shining  from  the  door. 

Jensen  held  open  the  door,  and  man  and  dog  came 
rushing  in.  He  was  a  little  man,  thin  almost  to 
emaciation,  brown  skinned,  with  pointed,  intensely 
black  beard,  and  a  face  marked  with  deep  scars  that 
gave  him  an  appearance  of  vicious  ugliness,  ugli 
ness  that  was  almost  uncannily  canine  as  the  long 
black  strings  of  hair  fell  about  his  face,  and  his  thin 
lips  were  drawn  away  from  a  row  of  yellow  teeth  in 


30       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

a  satyr-like  grin.  He  darted  toward  the  roaring 
fire. 

"  Wall !  wall !  Thees  ees  one  dam  bliz',  eh,  my 
friend,"  he  declared,  as  he  threw  back  his  fur  cap 
rimmed  with  a  row  of  icicles  that  cracked  away  and 
fell  tinkling  to  the  hearth.  "  One  dam  bliz' !  "  He, 
too,  appeared  to  repeat  and  emphasize  the  expletive 
oddly,  as  if  he  desired  that  there  be  no  misunder 
standing  regarding  how  lie  characterized  the  storm. 
"  But  eet  ees  tak'  more  dan  dees  bliz'  to  catch  Sin 
Petair,  eh,  my  Baby  ? "  And  he  reached  over  to 
stroke  the  head  of  the  dog,  half  wolf,  half  collie, 
that  crouched  beside  him,  evidently  enjoying  the 
comforting  warmth  of  the  fire  quite  as  much  as  did 
the  master. 

The  dog  looked  up  with  affectionate  topaz  eyes, 
pounded  her  great  tail  upon  the  floor  a  few  times, 
and  then  went  back  to  the  business  of  gnawing  away 
the  balls  of  ice  that  adhered  to  the  fur-rimmed  pads 
of  her  feet. 

"  Eh,  why  don'  you  speak,  eh,  what  ?  "  asked  the 
man  beside  the  fire,  turning  toward  Jensen  for  the 
first  time  since  his  entrance.  "  You  hear  me  say 
thees  ees  one  dam  bliz',  eh,  what  ? " 

Truth  to  tell,  Jensen  had  been  too  astonished  at 
the  visitor's  first  entrance  to  open  his  own  mouth. 


THE  EYES  OF  SIN  PETAIR     31 

Although  the  man  had  a  face  of  most  surpassing 
ugliness,  his  voice  was  like  soft  music;  even  when 
he  uttered  the  harshest  consonants,  they  flowed  from 
his  lips  with  the  caressing  murmur  of  a  cooing  brook 
passing  over  the  smooth  pebbles  of  its  bed.  It  was 
as  if  a  wolf  had  become  possessed  of  the  voice  of  a 
dove,  and  Jensen  was  deeply  puzzled  whether  to  take 
his  facial  appearance  or  the  tones  of  his  voice  as  the 
character  keynote  of  this  latest  arrival  at  the  camp 
on  the  Little  Babos.  Then,  too,  Jensen  found  him 
self  greatly  perplexed  to  decide  which  of  these  two 
arrivals,  the  man  or  the  woman,  was  the  real  mes 
senger  from  the  North  alluded  to  in  the  note  still 
lying  upon  the  shelf  table  beneath  the  north  win 
dow.  Judging  by  the  sounds  he  had  heard,  this 
latest  arrival  had  come  from  the  east;  but  he  was 
not  certain  of  that. 

As  the  man  and  dog  came  into  the  cabin,  Jen 
sen's  attention  had  been  drawn  away  from  the 
woman;  now  he  glanced  covertly  toward  where  she 
sat  at  one  side  as  he  answered  the  man's  remark. 

"  It  certainly  is  *  one  damn  blizzard,'  as  you  say, 
and  you  were  indeed  fortunate  to  find  sanctuary 
here  before  it  became  worse.  I  arrived  before  the 
storm  began  myself,  but  this  young  woman  just  beat 
it  out  in  time."  Jensen  accented  his  expletive  as 


32       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

had  the  other  two  arrivals.  He  was  becoming  cer 
tain  that  there  must  be  some  hidden  meaning  in  that 
otherwise  innocent  expression ;  the  look  of  perplexity 
that  overspread  the  young  woman's  face  as  he  em 
phasized  it  confirmed  Jensen's  impression. 

"  Eh,  what  ?  "  questioned  the  man  who  had  called 
himself  Saint  Peter,  glancing  up  questioningly. 
"  Thees  young  woman  ?  Why  don'  you  no  tell  Sin 
Petair  there  ees  ladies  presant,  eh  what,  my  Baby  ? " 
He  poked  one  moccasin  shod  foot  into  the  gaunt  ribs 
of  the  dog  stretched  out  by  the  fire. 

The  dog  got  up,  yawned  her  great  jaws,  and  walk 
ing  sedately  to  where  the  young  woman  sat,  perched 
on  haunches  before  her  and  began  to  whine  queru 
lously,  almost  as  if  attempting  to  form  words. 

"  Vairy  good,  Baby,"  commended  Saint  Peter 
whimsically.  "  Vair-ey  good ;  eet  ees  wan  young 
lady  with  gol'en  hair,  you  say  in  dog  language.  A 
ver5  bee-utiful  young  lady;  een  fact,  my  Baby,  you 
say  she  ees  dam  beautiful,  eh,  what  ? "  The  man 
laughed  elfishly,  shaking  the  strings  of  hair  about 
his  head.  He  appeared  also  to  listen  tensely  as  he 
uttered  his  last  sentence. 

"  Come,  come,  that  will  be  enough  about  the 
young  lady's  appearance,"  declared  Jensen,  frown 
ing  at  these  frank  expressions,  yet  not  failing  to 


THE  EYES  OF  SIN  PET  AIR     33 

note  the  accented  word  again.  "  Such  opinions  are 
better  kept  to  yourself,  Saint  Peter.  The  question 
uppermost  is:  Can  we  three  make  ourselves  com 
fortable  here  for  the  night,  or  until  the  storm 
abates  ?  "  He  glanced  toward  Miss  Kerrison  as  he 
put  the  question. 

Jensen  had  already  decided  that  the  proper  course 
for  him  under  present  circumstances  was  so  to  act 
as  to  quiet  any  suspicions  in  the  mind  of  the  young 
woman;  to  be  non-committal  with  the  man,  permit 
ting  him  to  draw  his  own  conclusions;  and  to  hope 
for  an  opportunity  of  making  covert  inspection  of 
the  two  sledges  that  had  been  left  outside  by  these 
two  arrivals  at  the  Little  Babos  camp.  There  were 
three  rooms  to  the  cabin,  and  he  hoped  such  an  op 
portunity  would  come  later. 

It  was  the  little  man  calling  himself  Saint  Peter 
who  answered  Jensen's  question :  "  Comfor'able, 
ees  eet?  Why,  for  certain;  sure,  sure,  as  they  say 
at  the  post.  But  first  let  me  put  you  straight, 
M'sieu ;  my  name  eet  ees  Petair  Sin,  eef  you  please. 
The  factor  at  the  post  he  always  set  eet  down  een 
hees  beeg  books  '  Sin,  Petair/  so  I  speak  it  so  my 
self."  He  said  this  with  an  uncouth  sort  of  dignity 
and  pride. 

".Very    well,    Peter    Saint,"    answered    Jensen. 


34      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  My  name  is  Alan  Kerrison ;  the  young  lady  is  Miss 
Kerrison.  Now  the  next  thing  is  to  eat;  for  my 
part,  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  wolf." 

"  Sure,  sure,  sure !  "  declared  Peter  Saint.  "  You 
seet  by  the  fire  and  entertain  dese  young  lady.  Baby 
and  Sin  Petair  will  cook  you  wan  supper  so  fine 
you  will  say  hee's  wan  best  chef  in  Canada,  theese 
Sin  Petair  from  Lac  L'Belle  Lucann." 

Peter  Saint  arose  from  his  bench  by  the  fire  and 
began  bustling  about  the  room.  He  moved  quickly, 
but  in  rather  a  blundering  way,  the  dog  continually 
by  his  side,  her  very  nose  seeming  to  follow  the  habi- 
tan's  hand  wherever  it  moved.  Occasionally  the  man 
would  reach  out  and  fondly  pat  the  animal ;  at  other 
times  he  would  stand  on  the  floor,  mimicking  perplex 
ity  in  a  droll  manner,  and  say : 

"  Wall,  wall,  where  ees  that  coffee  can,  wat,  eh,  my 
Baby?" 

The  great  dog  would  reach  up,  poke  her  damp  nose 
into  some  corner  of  a  shelf  and  finally  tumble  out  the 
coffee  can,  or  whatever  else  it  was  he  asked  of  her. 
Seldom  did  she  make  a  mistake,  and  Jensen  marvelled 
much  at  his  actions  as  he  sat  before  the  fire  watch 
ing  the  strange  man  and  his  dog.  Whether  she  dis 
covered  things  by  their  odors  or  how  it  was  he  could 
not  make  out. 


THE  EYES  OF  SIN  PETAIR     35 

Miss  Kerrison  continued  to  sit  in  her  dark  corner 
with  frowning  and  perplexed  brows,  as  if  too  puzzled 
to  take  any  part  in  the  actions  of  either  of  these  men. 

Peter  Saint  appeared  to  give  little  more  notice  to 
the  young  woman  than  as  if  she  had  not  been  present. 
Once,  in  his  bustling  about  the  room,  he  did  happen 
to  stumble  awkwardly  across  her  feet  and  immedi- 

• 

ately  went  into  a  profusion  of  apologies,  using  the 
word  "  damn  "  with  marked  emphasis ;  apologies  that 
would  have  been  more  prolonged  had  not  Jensen 
growled  out  a  command  for  him  to  cease  and  hurry 
on  with  his  preparations  for  the  meal. 

Twice  Jensen  took  occasion  to  make  a  passing  re 
mark  to  Miss  Kerrison  about  the  severity  of  the 
storm ;  once  he  invited  her  to  draw  nearer  to  the  fire 
warmth  as  he  threw  on  more  logs ;  but  she  answered 
only  with  indifferent  monosyllables. 

Peter  Saint,  having  finished  his  preparations  for 
cooking  the  supper,  now  gave  his  attention  to  laying 
the  board.  With  arms  laden  with  dishes,  he  stepped 
toward  the  large  shelf -table  where  lay  Jensen's  strange 
note.  The  dog,  preceding  him  by  a  few  steps,  first 
set  eyes  on  the  tiny  bit  of  white  paper.  With  paws 
on  the  table,  she  began  sniffing  at  it,  uttering,  mean 
while,  a  series  of  those  same  odd,  querulous  whines 
with  which  she  had  saluted  Miss  Kerrison. 


36       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Eh,  what  ees  theese,  my  Baby  ? "  called  Peter 
Saint  in  astonishment,  picking  tip  the  paper  at  the 
very  first  cry  of  the  dog.  "  A  lettair  ?  "  He  dropped 
the  dishes  to  the  table  in  a  clattering  heap. 

Jensen  arose  to  recover  his  note,  took  but  a  few 
steps,  and  then  stopped  in  amazement.  Peter  Saint, 
instead  of  bringing  the  paper  to  the  firelight  and  hold 
ing  it  before  his  eyes  to  read,  was  passing  sensitive 
finger-tips  over  the  writing,  meanwhile  muttering  the 
message  softly  to  himself. 

"  '  You  weel  immediate'  proceed  to  camp  on  the 
Leetle  Babo',  as  pair  previous  instruc'ions.'  Eh,  my 
Baby,  thees  ees  wan  mos'  peculiar  lettair,  eh,  what  ? 
'  An'  await  ze  messengair  from  the  Nord  ? '  Um, 
1  from  the  Nord  ? '  Eh,  my  Baby,  what  does  Sin 
Petair  and  Baby  know  about  theese  theengs  ?  l  An' 
theese  note  weel  identify  you.'  'Tees  mos'  strange 
lettair,  Baby." 

For  one  puzzled  instant  Jensen  looked  and  listened, 
then  he  grasped  the  habitan  by  the  shoulder,  whirled 
him  about  into  the  glare  from  the  fire,  and  gazed  into 
the  man's  face;  the  eyes  turned  up  toward  his  were 
entirely  filmed  over,  both  iris  and  white,  a  soft  gray 
mass  floating  between  tanned  lids.  The  man  was 
blind ;  at  most  he  could  only  have  told  the  difference 
between  darkness  and  light. 


THE  EYES  OF  SIN  PETAIR     37 

"You  are  blind,  Peter  Saint,"  declared  Jensen, 
angry  that  the  man  should  not  have  mentioned  it. 
"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before  ?  " 

"  M'sieu  Kerrison  ees  make  wan  beeg  mestake," 
answered  the  habitan  in  that  soft  voice  of  his,  that 
accorded  so  oddly  with  his  satyr-like  features.  "  Sin 
Petair  ees  not  blind.  Ho !  Ho !  Ho !  We  theenk  not, 
eh,  my  Baby  ? "  He  put  out  his  hand  toward  the 
great  dog  that  was  growling  about  Jensen's  legs  and 
patted  her  fondly.  "  Thees  ees  my  eyes,  an'  bettair 
eyes  can  nevair  be  for  any  man.  Eees  not  thees  true, 
eh,  my  Baby,  what  ?  "  Babe,  the  big  wolf-collie, 
whimpered  her  unmistakable  acquiescence. 

With  a  sudden  rush  it  came  to  Jensen  that  this 
strange  blind  habitan  with  the  soft  voice  had  found 
himself  wonderfully  at  home  in  the  cabin  on  the  Lit 
tle  Babos;  that,  despite  his  lack  of  sight,  he  had 
moved  about  the  room  with  amazing  accuracy  and 
with  seemingly  complete  knowledge  of  where  each  ar 
ticle  of  cookery  was  kept.  Jensen  thought  he  under 
stood  now  why  there  was  no  provision  for  making  a 
light  in  the  cabin.  He  determined  to  settle  the  ques 
tion  at  once. 

"  So  it  is  in  your  cabin,  Peter  Saint,  that  the  young 
lady  and  myself  have  taken  shelter  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Sure,  sure,  sure,"  answered  Peter  Saint  without 


38      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

any  attempt  at  evading  the  matter ;  thus  adding  more 
to  the  perplexed  condition  of  Jensen's  mind.  "  What 
you  theenk,  eh?  You  theenk  Sin  Petair  and  hees 
Baby  go  in  every  'ouse  dey  come  across,  wat  ?  We 
theenk  not,  eh,  my  Baby?  Sin  Petair  know  where 
he  eese  belong.  Deese  ees  my  'ome,  to  him  you  are 
welcome,  M'sieu  Kerrison,  an'  also  dees  young  lady 
with  gol'en  hair,  she  ees  welcome  also."  The  habitan 
bowed  low  and  chuckled  softly,  as  if  inwardly  enjoy 
ing  some  huge  joke. 

"  You  have  ask  Sin  Petair  vair  mooch,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  and  Sin  Petair  he  has  tol'  you  everyt'ing 
with  open  heart.  Now  one  leetle  question  from  Sin 
Petair  to  M'sieu  Kerrison.  Deese  lettair  what  my 
Baby  fin'  on  deese  table,  who,  pleese,  bring  de  leetle 
lettair  to  de  cabin  of  Sin  Petair  on  de  Leetle  Babo'  ? 
Was  eet  M'sieu  Kerrison  bring  deese  lettair  ? "  The 
habitan  asked  his  question  in  a  wonderfully  soft  and 
insinuating  manner  that  would  have  disarmed  the 
most  suspicious  listener. 

Unfortunately  for  the  success  of  his  journey  into 
the  wilderness,  Jensen  underestimated  the  perspi 
cacity  of  Peter  Saint,  the  French  Canadian  habitan, 
in  forming  his  answer.  Putting  his  trust  in  the 
habitan's  voice  rather  than  his  face,  Jensen  took  it 
quite  for  granted  that  Peter  Saint  believed  him  to  be 


THE  EYES  OF  SIN  PETAIR     39 

the  person  who  had  brought  the  note  to  his  camp  and 
answered  accordingly. 

"  Certainly,  I  brought  that  letter,"  answered  Jen 
sen  confidently.  "  I  was  instructed  to  await  here  for 
a  messenger  from  the  North.  I  supposed  this  young 
lady,  Miss  Kerrison,  to  be  the  person  I  was  awaiting, 
but,  apparently,  she  knows  nothing  about  it." 

"  I  theenk  M'sieu  Kerrison  eese  make  wan  leetle 
mistake,  eh,  what  ?  "  said  the  habitan  sharply,  the  soft 
tones  missing  from  his  voice  now.  "  My  Baby,  she 
act  as  if  deese  lettair  belong  to  some  other  man  than 
M'sieu  Kerrison ;  an'  Baby,  she  eese  wan  wise  dog." 

"  Nonsense,"  declared  Jensen  laughingly,  deter 
mined  to  bluff  it  out.  "  Your  Babe  is  a  very  clever 
dog,  but  she  has  gone  astray  this  time.  It  is  my  note 
of  instructions  from  headquarters.  If  you  belong 
here  at  the  Little  Babos  camp,  you  probably  under 
stand  that  without  my  saying  any  more;  but  I  can 
easily  prove  my  statement.  The  young  lady,  Miss 
Kerrison,  and  myself  are  the  only  two  people  who  have 
been  in  your  cabin ;  she  will,  I  think,  tell  you  that  she 
did  not  bring  the  letter  ? "  Jensen  turned  toward 
where  the  young  woman  sat  beside  the  fire  in  half 
darkness.  He  expected  her  to  immediately  declare 
that  the  letter  was  certainly  not  hers  and  must  be 
his. 


40       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

At  his  question  the  young  woman  stood  up,  tossed 
back  her  head,  and  answered :  "  This  man  who  calls 
himself  Kerrison  did  have  the  letter  in  his  possession 
when  I  arrived  here,  but  I  am  satisfied  it  is  not  his ; 
he  knows  absolutely  nothing  more  than  what  is  writ 
ten  there,  what  any  person  might  know  from  reading 
it.  He  has  evidently  come  into  possession  of  the 
note  in  some  clandestine  manner  and  is  trying  to  bluff 
it  out.  What  he  is  here  for  I  do  not  know;  but  it 
means  no  good  to  you,  Peter  Saint." 

As  Miss  Kerrison  spoke,  Jensen  had  turned  toward 
her.  The  instinct  of  constant  guard  that  never  leaves 
men  of  his  calling  now  made  him  whirl  his  glance 
suddenly  back  toward  the  habitan.  He  caught  the 
man's  face  glaring  his  way  with  a  look  of  intense 
fury,  the  man  himself  poised  on  his  toes  with  clutch 
ing  fingers  about  to  leap  toward  his  throat. 

Jensen  dodged  quickly  to  one  side  at  the  very  in 
stant  the  blind  habitan  shot  toward  him  like  a  stone 
from  a  catapult.  Failing  to  find  the  expected  form 
to  impinge  upon,  Peter  Saint  fell  crashing  to  the 
floor,  and  Jensen  leaped  forward  to  pin  him  there, 
only  to  feel  his  arm  grasped  in  the  mouth  of  the  dog 
Babe,  as  she  jerked  him  onto  his  back  and  stood  across 
his  chest  with  threatening  jaws  extended,  her  lips 
drawn  tautly  back  from  the  white  fangs,  and  the 


THE  EYES  OF  SIN  PETAIR     41 

bristles  along  her  spine  standing  up  in  a  ruffled  yellow 
plume.  He  tried  to  roll  from  beneath  the  dog,  but 
she  bit  a  snarling  growl  in  the  middle  with  a  snap 
of  her  steel  jaws  at  his  throat.  It  seemed  the  part 
of  discretion  to  lay  quiet. 

Peter  Saint  arose  to  his  feet  rubbing  a  bruised 
knee. 

"  M'sieu  Kerrison  has  seen  de  eyes  of  Sin  Petair 
wan  tarn  back ;  now  M'sieu  Kerrison  see  de  teeth  of 
Sin  Petair."  He  said  this  with  a  soft  chuckle. 
"  Dey  are  vairy  sharp,  theese  teeth.  I  will  recom- 
men'  dat  M'sieu  Kerrison  remain  vairy  quiet  w'ile 
we  fix  M'sieu  so  'ee  can  not  'ave  any  more  strange 
dreams  about  lettaires  dat  do  not  belong  to  'eem." 

The  habitan  stepped  toward  a  shelf.  Eeturning 
with  a  stout  rope,  he  began  to  truss  Jensen  up  in  a 
thoroughly  competent  manner.  The  young  woman 
stood  looking  on  with  what  Jensen  took  to  be  a  sar 
castic  smile  wreathed  about  her  red  lips. 

Babe,  the  big  wolf -collie,  held  menacing  jaws  but  a 
few  inches  from  his  throat,  offering  ample  demonstra 
tion  in  her  own  effective  manner  that  the  teeth  of 
Peter  Saint  were  quite  as  proficient  in  their  way  as 
were  the  eyes  of  Peter  Saint.  It  was  probably  her 
keen  nose  that  had  been  the  means  of  indicating  to  the 
blind  habitan  the  fact  that  the  letter  on  which  Alan 


42       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Jensen  had  staked  his  all  in  this  journey  into  the 
North  was  not  his  rightful  possession,  but  had  been 
for  some  time  in  the  company  of  a  man  whose  per 
sonal  identification  card,  as  conveyed  to  the  nostrils 
of  a  dog,  was  vastly  different  from  that  of  the  man 
now  being  securely  tied  as  he  lay  upon  the  floor  of 
the  cabin  on  the  Little  Babos. 


IV 


HAVING  removed  Jensen's  automatic  that  had 
been  slung  about  his  neck  inside  his  coat,  and 
tied  Jensen's  arms  and  legs  so  securely  that  he  could 
scarcely  move  without  difficulty,  Peter  Saint  carried 
him  toward  a  low  bench  seat  that  extended  along  the 
farther  side  of  the  cabin.  The  habitan  appeared 
small  and  emaciated,  yet  the  ease  with  which  he  lifted 
Jensen's  athletic  form  proved  him  to  possess  muscles 
of  steel.  Dropping  Jensen  to  the  bench,  he  said  with 
an  elfish  grin: 

"Pardon,  M'sieu,  eef  I  make  eet  so  he  will  lay 
vairy  quiet.  Eet  is  necessaire." 

The  more  Jensen  saw  of  this  habitan,  the  more  puz 
zled  he  became  regarding  how  best  to  take  him. 
When  he  closed  his  eyes  and  heard  him  speak,  he  set 
Peter  Saint  down  as  a  simple,  big-hearted,  French 
Canadian  of  wonderfully  appealing  personality ;  when 
he  looked  into  that  satyr-like  face,  he  saw  nothing 
but  black-hearted  villainy  written  all  over  it;  yet 
against  this  facial  evidence  stood  one  of  the  stoutest 


44       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

convictions  of  Jensen's  life  in  the  open,  that  any  per 
son  able  to  make  a  firm  friend  of  a  dog  was  worth 
accepting  as  your  friend  on  this  recommendation 
alone. 

"  Look  here,  Peter  Saint,"  he  declared.  "  This  is 
utter  foolishness,  tying  me  up  like  this ;  you  already 
have  my  revolver,  and  I'll  give  you  my  word  to  sit 
quiet  in  a  corner  and  molest  no  one  if  you  will  loosen 
these  cords;  they  are  deucedly  uncomfortable;  be 
sides,  I  must  have  something  to  eat,  and  surely  you  do 
not  mean  to  waste  your  time  in  feeding  me  like  a  child 
while  I  am  tied." 

As  he  spoke,  Jensen  turned  toward  the  young 
woman.  He  had  recently  thought  he  discerned  a 
faint  sign  of  pity  at  his  condition  passing  across  her 
face  as  she  stood  before  the  roaring  fire.  He  resolved 
to  follow  up  the  lead  it  offered. 

"  My  shoulder,  too,  pains  like  the  very  devil  where 
your  dog  fastened  her  teeth,  and  I  ought  to  dress  it," 
he  added.  "  Come  now,  Peter  Saint,  be  a  good  fel 
low  and  cut  me  loose.  There  is  some  sort  of  a  mis 
understanding  about  that  letter  business,  but  I  feel 
sure  we  can  fix  it  up  all  right  if  we  but  talk  matters 
over  calmly  while  we  are  all  partaking  of  that  glor 
ious  smelling  supper  you  have  been  so  good  as  to 
prepare." 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     45 

"  Wall !  wall !  Sin  Petair  ees  not  wan  man  wid  hard 
heart,"  answered  the  habitan,  who  was  inordinately 
vain  of  his  culinary  attainments.  "  Suppose  we  leave 
dese  matter  to  the  young  lady ;  eef  she  say  untie  dese 
man  who  speak  wrongly  about  dese  lettair,  eh,  well, 
we  shall  untie  heem !  " 

As  he  spoke,  Peter  Saint  turned  toward  Miss  Ker- 
rison  with  a  questioning  gesture.  Jensen  attempted 
to  move  his  upper  body  so  that  the  blood  that  was  be 
ginning  to  soak  through  his  coat  sleeve  from  the 
wound  made  by  the  dog  might  be  in  evidence.  He 
felt  it  was  taking  a  rather  mean  advantage  to  thus 
play  upon  her  sympathies,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  he 
knew  Case  BM432  would  not  be  likely  to  register 
much  forward  progress  while  he  remained  tied  and 
helpless. 

Babe  had  fastened  her  teeth  in  the  same  arm  Jen 
sen  had  previously  injured  with  the  axe,  and  even  the 
slight  movement  he  was  able  to  make  in  turning  his 
body  sent  such  a  dart  of  agonizing  pain  shooting  from 
finger-tips  to  shoulder  that  he  did  not  need  to  call 
up  any  arts  of  simulation  in  order  to  make  his  con 
dition  convincing.  The  blood  receded  from  his  face, 
he  saw  the  firelight  suddenly  die  down,  and  the  room 
went  dark  about  him  just  as  Miss  Kerrison  told 
Peter  Saint  to  release  him.  Something  prompted 


46      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

him,  oddly  enough,  to  call  out  Miss  Kerrison's  name 
and,  long  after,  he  remembered  hearing  his  own  voice 
repeat  it,  fainter  and  fainter,  until  it  trailed  off  into 
silence,  and  everything  became  a  blank. 

When  Jensen  regained  his  senses,  he  was  lying 
upon  a  thick,  fur-covered  skin  in  the  warmest  corner 
before  the  fire;  his  heavy  mackinaw  coat  was  off, 
the  blue  wool  overshirt  sleeve  and  the  undershirt 
sleeve  were  both  cut  away,  and  sympathetic  hands 
were  cleansing  the  ugly  wound  made  by  the  dog's 
teeth  with  some  pungent  smelling  liquid  he  took  to 
be  formalin. 

For  a  moment  he  lay  quietly  with  closed  eyes.  The 
storm  was  still  beating  about  the  cabin  with  wild  fury ; 
occasionally  he  heard  a  dog  whine  plaintively  as  it 
sniffed  at  the  faint  line  of  light  and  warmth  that 
showed  beneath  the  door.  The  liquid  being  applied 
to  his  arm  stung  like  nettles,  yet  it  was  so  gently  used 
that  he  scarcely  dared  open  his  eyes  for  fear  of 
frightening  away  the  hand  that  touched  him.  Fi 
nally  he  did  open  his  eyes,  only  to  meet  disappoint 
ment;  it  was  Peter  Saint  who  knelt  beside  him  and 
swabbed  out  his  wound  with  a  bit  of  cotton.  He  had 
thought  and  hoped  it  might  be  Miss  Kerrison. 

Jensen  decided  that  his  period  of  unconsciousness 
could  have  lasted  but  a  few  moments,  for  a  pot  of 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     47 

coffee  was  steaming  upon  the  table  as  if  just  placed 
there,  and  Miss  Kerrison  was  moving  about  the  room 
making  final  preparations  for  the  meal,  while  Peter 
Saint  attended  to  Jensen's  wound.  Catching  the  de 
licious  aroma  of  the  steaming  Yarguli,  he  arose  to 
a  sitting  position  as  the  habitan  wound  the  last 
length  of  aseptically  treated  bandage  about  his 
arm. 

"  Great  Caesar's  ghost,  Peter  Saint !  but  that  cof 
fee  of  yours  smells  glorious !  "  he  cried.  "  I've  been 
brewing  it  myself  from  the  same  stock  for  several 
days;  but  I  never  could  bring  out  an  odor  like  that. 
'Tis  appetizing  enough  to  revive  the  mummy  of 
Pharaoh  Meneptah  himself.  Now  that  you  have  so 
nicely  fixed  up  my  arm,  it  only  needs  a  cup  of  your 
surpassing  coffee  to  put  me  fit  as  a  fiddle." 

The  habitan  grinned  with  pleasure  at  this  praise. 
Jensen  got  to  his  feet,  and  Miss  Kerrison  turned  to 
ward  him.  Alan  hoped  to  catch  in  her  glance  some 
sign  of  relief  at  his  recovery,  but,  if  she  felt  it,  noth- 
thing  of  the  sort  was  allowed  to  become  evident.  He 
saw  only  the  same  glance  of  perplexity  with  which  she 
had  met  his  gaze  from  the  first. 

"  M'sieu  is  vairy  good  to  speak  so  highly  of  my  cof 
fee,"  said  the  habitan ;  "  the  brewing  it  is  nossing, 
every  voyageur  in  Canada  hees  make  good  coffee ;  but 


48       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

the  berry,  ah,  it  is  mooch.  Theese  berry  is  wan  gift 
from  my  dear  frien'  M'sieu  — " 

It  was  done  so  quickly  Jensen  was  scarcely  able  to 
fully  realize  for  the  moment  just  what  had  been  done, 
he  was  so  dazed  from  the  temporary  swoon  and  the 
excruciating  pain  of  the  two  wounds  in  his  arm ;  but 
he  thought  he  saw  Miss  Kerrison  dart  quickly  to 
Peter  Saint's  side  and  place  her  fingers  lightly  on  his 
lips  before  he  could  utter  the  name  of  the  friend  who 
had  presented  him  with  the  rare  and  almost  priceless 
Yarguli. 

It  was  but  one  more  mystery  to  add  to  the  many 
with  which  Jensen's  mind  had  been  constantly  puz 
zling  since  the  night  spent  at  the  sick  man's  bedside 
in  the  charcoal  burners'  camp.  Yet  it  assured  him  of 
one  thing;  while  he  had  been  unconscious,  either 
Miss  Kerrison  and  Peter  Saint  had  come  to  some 
sort  of  an  understanding,  or  they  had  previously 
known  each  other  better  than  their  actions  had  led 
him  to  believe. 

As  Jensen  arose  to  his  feet  after  having  his  arm 
bandaged,  he  reeled  a  bit  with  dizziness  and  the  heat 
of  the  room.  At  a  word  from  Miss  Kerrison,  Peter 
Saint  came  quickly  to  his  side. 

"  Take  my  arm,  M'sieu,"  he  bowed  with  a  grin. 

The  habitan  assisted  Jensen  toward  a  well-spread 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     49 

table  beneath  the  north  window  with  all  the  gentle 
ness  of  a  mother  ministering  to  a  child,  his  soft  voice 
murmuring  words  of  sympathy,  while  his  thin  lips 
were  drawn  away  from  his  yellow  teeth  in  an  evil, 
skull-like  grin  that  would  have  frightened  an  actual 
child  into  fits. 

"  Miss  Kerrison,  Peter  Saint  and  I  have  declared 
a  truce  for  the  night,"  said  Jensen  with  a  smile,  as 
he  drew  forward  a  chair  and  waved  an  invitation  for 
her  to  be  seated  at  the  table.  "  I  hope  this  arrange 
ment  includes  yourself  as  well,  and  that  we  shall  be 
a  comfortable  party  of  three  at  supper.  I  mean  to 
explain  all  about  that  letter,  and  I  want  you  both  to 
hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

Whether  it  was  hunger  and  the  appetizing  odor  of 
Peter  Saint's  expertly  prepared  supper,  or  a  desire  to 
meet  his  conciliatory  attitude  half  way  that  made 
her  accept  the  chair  he  offered,  Jensen  did  not  know ; 
but  Miss  Kerrison  sat  down  without  deigning  to  af 
ford  him  anything  more  than  the  perfunctory  thanks 
she  might  have  bestowed  on  a  reasonably  courteous 
waiter. 

Peter  Saint  took  a  seat  at  the  table  and  proceeded 
to  do  the  honors  with  no  bad  grace,  considering  the 
fact  that  he  was  only  a  forest-bred  habitan.  It  was 
marvellous  with  what  precision  his  sensitive  fingers 


50       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

moved  about  and  found  the  dishes,  served  out  the  por 
tions,  and  gracefully  handed  them  to  his  involuntary 
guests.  He  seemed  to  remember  where  every  article 
on  the  table  was  located  when  once  he  had  found  it. 
It  was  difficult  for  Jensen  to  realize  the  man  was 
blind,  and  he  watched  him  with  increasing  wonder. 

Babe,  the  dog,  sat  on  her  haunches  beside  Peter 
Saint's  chair  and  accepted  bits  of  food  or  cooing  ban 
ter  from  her  master  with  equal  satisfaction.  There 
were  flaky  biscuits  that  would  have  reflected  credit 
on  the  most  expert  chef  of  the  Ritz-Carlton ;  and  there 
was  a  dish  of  baked  beans  that,  while  they  originally 
came  from  out  a  tin  can,  had  been  so  coaxed  into  a 
state  of  rare  toothsomeness  by  the  culinary  skill  of 
Peter  Saint  that  the  original  canner  would  have  sworn 
they  could  never  have  come  from  his  factory-made 
stocks.  And  the  bacon !  Instead  of  being  fried  into 
disgusting  slabs  of  grease-oozing  sponge,  it  had  been 
baked  in  a  reflecting  oven  to  a  condition  of  delicate 
crispness  and  crunchy  sweetness  that  would  have 
called  forth  a  purr  of  satisfaction  from  Lucullus  him 
self.  And  there  was  the  Yarguli,  and,  greatest  of 
all,  there  was  the  healthy  hunger  that  comes  only  in 
the  keen,  cold  air  of  the  North. 

For  a  few  moments  the  four  virile  animals  gathered 
about  the  table  paid  expressive  tribute  to  the  culinary 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     51 

skill  of  Peter  Saint  with  busy  teeth  and  grateful 
stomachs.  Then  Jensen  thought  it  time  to  explain 
the  matter  of  the  letter.  Having  decided  that  this 
missive  dropped  in  the  charcoal  burners'  camp  had 
been  originally  intended  for  delivery  to  Peter  Saint, 
the  peculiar  character  of  the  writing  with  the  sharply 
raised  letters  which  the  habitan  had  deciphered  so 
readily  being  convincing  evidence  to  that  effect,  he 
addressed  his  remarks  to  him. 

"  Now,  Peter  Saint,"  said  Jensen,  "  I'll  explain 
fully  about  that  letter ;  Babe  is  right,  it  was  not  really 
mine ;  the  man  who  originally  possessed  that  letter  is 
dead.  He—" 

The  sound  of  a  quick,  gasping  intake  of  breath 
made  Jensen  stop  abruptly  and  drew  his  attention 
toward  Miss  Kerrison.  The  color  had  left  her  lips, 
her  hands  were  gripping  the  table  convulsively,  and 
she  was  looking  at  him  with  wide,  staring  eyes  as  she 
repeated  in  awed  tones: 

"  Dead,  dead,  tell  me  quickly,  how  did  he  die,  and 
where  ? " 

"  I  am  coming  to  that,"  answered  Jensen.  "  Tom 
Springvale  and  I  were  together  at  a  charcoal  burners' 
camp  in  northern  Vermont;  my  friend,  Springvale, 
who  carried  the  letter,  was  on  his  way  to  Peter  Saint's 
camp  here,  when  he  was  accidentally  struck  down  by 


52      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

a  blow  on  the  head  from  a  falling  tree.  The  concus 
sion  brought  on  brain  fever  from  which  he  did  not 
recover.  I  was  with  him  when  he  died  at  the  char 
coal  burners'  camp,  and  he  exacted  a  promise  from  me 
that  I  would  carry  out  the  mission  on  which  he  had 
been  engaged.  That  mission  was  the  delivery  of  this 
letter  at  Peter  Saint's  camp,  after  which  I  was  to  re 
turn  with  the  package  the  note  refers  to." 

"  Return  to  where  ? " 

Jensen  had  so  far  found  such  smooth  sailing  with 
his  narrative  that  this  unexpected  question  Miss  Ker- 
rison  had  shot  at  him  brought  him  up  standing.  He 
had  all  he  could  do  to  make  his  voice  sound  confident 
and  natural  as  he  answered : 

"  To  New  York." 

As  he  uttered  the  name  of  the  city,  Jensen  breathed 
a  silent  hope  that  Miss  Kerrison  might  not  ask  him 
to  whom  the  package  was  to  be  delivered.  It  was  a 
forlorn  hope ;  almost  as  the  words  passed  through  his 
mind,  she  voiced  them : 

"  And  to  whom  were  you  to  deliver  this  package  in 
New  York  ? "  She  eyed  him  keenly  as  she  put  the 
question. 

"To  the  bank." 

Fortunately,  Jensen  found  sudden  inspiration  for 
his  answer  in  what  the  delirious  Springvale  had  said 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     53 

when  he  first  came  among  the  charcoal  burners.  Ap 
parently  it  was  an  answer  that  satisfied  Miss  Kerri- 
son,  for  he  saw  her  tense  grip  upon  the  table  relax, 
and  a  look  of  relief  flowed  across  her  face  as  she 
leaned  supinely  back  in  her  chair ! 

"  Tom  Springvale  told  me  that  the  code  word  I 
must  speak  here  was  i  damn/  "  continued  Jensen, 
"  that  it  would  be  understood,  and  I  would  be  given 
a  package  that  must  be  brought  back  at  once.  I  am 
sorry  I  mixed  up  matters  so  in  the  beginning;  but 
you  see  I  was  not  certain  about  either  you  or  Peter 
Saint.  I  have  been  waiting  here  at  the  Little  Babos 
camp  for  several  days,  and  I  thought  perhaps  both 
of  you  might  be  but  casual  travelers  who  had  taken 
shelter,  from  the  storm." 

Jensen  had  exerted  a  tremendous  effort  to  make  his 
story  sound  simple,  earnest,  and  natural ;  he  was  cer 
tain  that  the  success  of  his  mission  depended  wholly 
on  gaining  the  confidence  of  these  two  people,  and  that 
that  confidence  hinged  on  whether  or  not  they  believed 
his  version  of  how  he  had  come  into  possession  of  the 
letter. 

Apparently  Miss  Kerrison  did  believe  him,  for  she 
favored  Jensen  with  a  slight  smile  as  she  said : 

"  I  guess  you  are  all  right,  after  all.  I  thought 
at  first  you  might  be  a  Secret  Service  man."  She 


54       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

paused  a  moment  before  going  on.  "  Tell  me,  were 
you  and  Tom  Springvale  long  friends?  How  did 
you  meet  him  ?  " 

She  was  looking  intently  into  his  face,  very  serene 
and  calm  as  she  voiced  her  question.  There  seemed 
no  note  of  distrust  in  her  tones;  yet,  somehow,  Jen 
sen  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  suspicion  that  he  was 
not  fooling  her  even  a  little  bit ;  that  she  really  knew 
his  secret  as  well  as  he  did  himself  and  was  merely 
drawing  him  out.  Yet  he  knew  he  must  keep  up  the 
bluff;  everything  depended  upon  doing  that. 

He  wished  success  for  his  mission  into  the  North ; 
but  quite  as  much  did  he  wish  to  play  as  fair  as  pos 
sible  with  this  young  woman  who  was  making  a  deeper 
impression  on  him  than  any  woman  had  ever  made 
before. 

Again  it  was  the  noisy  sledge  dogs  that  rescued 
Jensen  from  his  embarrassment  regarding  Miss  Ker- 
rison's  question.  He  was  framing  some  sort  of  a 
vacuous  statement  about  having  met  Springvale  at 
Harvard  as  an  explanation  that  might  satisfy  her  de 
sire  to  know  how  he  had  first  become  acquainted  with 
the  sick  man  of  the  charcoal  burners'  camp,  when  both 
teams  of  animals  tied  outside  the  cabin  broke  into 
a  chorus  of  vigorous  howls  that  sounded  like  Bed 
lam  let  loose. 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     55 

Loud  as  was  the  canine  pandemonium,  it  could  not 
drown  a  bull-like  voice  heard  roaring  vociferous  salute 
toward  the  cabin. 

"  Hi !  Hi !  Hi !  "  bellowed  the  voice  outside,  as  some 
one  began  to  beat  vigorously  on  the  cabin  door. 
"  Pete  Saint,  what's  matter,  you  ban  dead  ?  Why 
you  don't  open  door  for  Big  Dan  ?  " 

Peter  Saint  stumbled  toward  the  door.  Miss  Ker- 
rison  got  up  and  peered  confusedly  about,  as  if  search 
ing  for  some  place  in  which  to  conceal  herself,  as  she 
whimpered  in  frightened  tones: 

"  It  is  Dan  the  Swede.  I  was  afraid  they  would 
send  him.  To  think  it  should  be  that  ignorant  beast, 
when  there  were  others  that  might  have  come." 

Jensen  gathered  from  her  actions  that  Miss  Ker- 
rison  was  for  some  reason  terrified  at  the  prospect  of 
meeting  this  latest  visitor  the  storm  had  brought  to 
the  Little  Babos  camp.  He  attempted  to  reassure 
her. 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  be  alarmed,  Miss  Kerrison," 
he  declared,  trying  to  speak  as  comfortingly  as  he 
could.  "  You  may  feel  assured  that  no  harm  can 
come  to  you  while  Peter  Saint,  Babe,  and  myself  are 
here.  Even  if  I  lose  the  use  of  my  other  arm,"  he 
added  with  a  rueful  smile,  as  a  dart  of  pain  in  the 
injured  limb  shot  toward  his  shoulder,  "  I  think  Babe 


56      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

would  offer  ample  protection  against  a  dozen;  she  is 
very  efficient,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  must  trust  you,"  she  whispered  hurriedly,  com 
ing  so  close  that  he  caught  the  intoxicating  perfume 
of  her  hair  and,  placing  one  hand  on  his  arm,  "  I 
fear  that  man  coming  as  I  would  the  very  fiends  of  the 
infernal  regions ;  but  I  must  force  myself  to  be  agree 
able  to  him ;  why  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  but  I  must. 
He  is  the  primal  brute  personified.  Try,  try  hard  to 
understand  that  I  am  only  acting  a  part  that  is  forced 
upon  me."  She  spoke  very  earnestly,  and  it  was  dif 
ficult  for  Jensen  to  resist  the  temptation  to  draw  her 
close  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her  as  he  would  have 
comforted  a  foolishly  frightened  child. 

"  This  much  I  will  tell  you,"  she  was  adding,  when 
the  door  of  the  cabin  was  thrown  open,  and  Miss 
Kerrison  had  no  opportunity  to  finish  her  sentence. 

His  huge  form  surrounded  by  a  whirlwind  of  snow 
and  sleet,  bringing  with  him  a  gust  of  icy  air  that 
was  enough  to  chill  even  the  warmest  clad  mortal  to 
the  very  bone,  there  came  into  the  cabin  what  Alan 
Jensen  might,  at  first,  have  taken  to  be  some  gigantic 
blond  cave  man  caught  up  through  some  miracle  from 
past  ages  and  dropped  in  this  isolated  hut  on  the 
Little  Babos. 

This  last  traveler  of  the  night  was  nearly  seven 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     57 

feet  tall,  with  arms  the  size  of  an  ordinary  man's 
thighs,  arms  that  reached  clear  to  his  knees  and  ended 
in  hands'  so  vast  it  seemed  incredible  they  could  be 
human.  A  tremendous  cannon-ball-shaped  dome  of 
skull  came  to  a  point  in  a  prognathous,  blond-bearded 
jaw  of  massive  proportions,  a  jaw  that  was  overshad 
owed  by  bushy  brows  and  evilly  twinkling  blue  eyes. 

The  vast  bulk  of  him,  nightmarish  and  ungainly, 
was  awesome,  yet  his  most  amazing  feature  was  that, 
although  clothed  above  the  waist  in  a  flimsy  blue  shirt 
that  scarcely  concealed  his  hairy  breast,  he  appeared 
to  feel  the  zero  temperature  no  more  than  an  ordinary 
person  would  have  felt  a  summer  breeze.  On  his 
back  he  carried  a  heavy  canvas  tote  bag. 

With  another  bellowing  salute  to  Peter  Saint,  the 
giant  lumbered  toward  the  supper  table  and  began 
cramming  great  fistfuls  of  food  into  his  mouth,  like  a 
famished  animal.  Jensen  stood  before  the  fire  watch 
ing  the  man,  Miss  Kerrison  at  his  side.  One  of  her 
hands  rested  lightly  on  Jensen's  arm;  yet  not  so 
lightly  but  that  he  felt  the  tremor  in  her  fingers. 

Suddenly  a  growl  from  Babe  drew  Jensen's  atten 
tion  away  from  the  Swede.  The  big  wolf-collie  evi 
dently  did  not  relish  the  advent  of  this  newest  arrival 
at  the  camp;  she  was  crouched  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  the  hair  along  her  spine  standing  stiff  and 


58       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

straight  as  a  cockatoo's  plume,  her  every  muscle' 
tensed.  The  dog  had  all  but  leaped  upon  the  back  of 
the  Swede,  when  the  sensitive  ear  of  Peter  Saint 
seemed  to  catch  the  note  of  anger  in  her  growling  un 
dertone,  and  he  darted  wiry  fingers  within  her  steel 
collar,  fetching  her  up  short  and  standing,  almost 
choking  the  breath  from  her  body. 

"  Baby !  "  he  chided  angrily.  "  Why  you  don' 
be'ave?  Deese  ees  wan  fine  beeg  man  from  Camp 
Argyle.  Wat  you  teenk,  eh,  what  ?  You  suppose  he 
eese  wan  huskie  malamute  dat  you  mus'  fight  wid, 
eh,  what  ? " 

Babe,  refusing  to  be  subdued  by  her  master's  firm, 
but  good-natured  chidings,  continued  her  deep- 
throated  snarls,  voicing  them  now  so  loudly  that  even 
the  Swede  turned  about  from  his  food-cramming  at 
the  table  and  glanced  her  way. 

As  Dan  the  Swede  saw  Peter  Saint  holding  the 
form  of  Babe  half  in  the  air,  while  she  struggled  with 
all  her  strength  to  break  from  him,  he  began  to  tremble 
in  all  his  great  body  as  he  cried  in  what  was  now  a 
whining  treble : 

"  Pete  Saint !  Don't  let  her  yump.  For  the  love 
of  God,  don't  let  her  yump.  She  ban  de  loup-garou. 
Don't  let  her  yump  !  "  his  final  word  was  a  shriek. 

It  was  then  Jensen  realized  that,  in  spite  of  the 


A  TRUCE  FOR  THE  NIGHT     59 

man's  enormous  bulk  and  muscular  development,  Dan 
the  Swede  concealed  in  his  breast  the  heart  of  a  rank 
physical  coward. 

Evidently  Babe  had  long  nourished  an  unconquer 
able  antipathy  toward  the  Swede,  for  it  was  necessary 
for  Peter  Saint  to  take  her  into  a  dark  corner  and 
chain  her  there  before  she  would  remain  at  all  quiet. 
Even  then  she  continued,  at  every  movement  of  the 
giant  Swede,  to  bare  her  teeth  viciously  and  make 
appealing  whines  to  be  released. 


WHAT    CREWLY    DISCOVERED 

BACK  in  New  York  Chief  Hilkie  was  having  his 
own  little  peck  o'  trouble  with  Case  BM432. 
His  idea  that  he  could  quickly  solve  matters  by  find 
ing  the  initial  source  of  the  white  metal  obtained 
from  pitchblende  was  not  panning  out  according  to 
expectations. 

Every  known  radium  mine  in  the  world  had  passed 
under  the  inspection  of  his  department.  Every  grain 
of  by-products  obtained  in  reducing  pitchblende  had 
been  traced  from  mine  to  final  destination.  Noth 
ing  developed. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  white  metal  now  identified 
as  "  ithite  "  seemed  to  be  without  commercial  use,  as 
yet.  Chemists  were  experimenting  with  it  and  had 
expectations  that  it  might  be  put  to  practical  utility 
later.  In  the  meantime  "  ithite  "  was  being  stored, 
and  practically  every  ounce  so  far  produced  could  be 
accounted  for. 

"  It  is  barely  possible,"  droned  one  dry-as-dust  old 
government  chemist  to  Chief  Hilkie,  "  that  some 


WHAT  CREWLY  DISCOVERED     61 

subtle  transmutation  takes  place  in  gold  coin  under 
certain  conditions  that  changes  it  to  "  ithite  " ;  we  are 
experimenting  along  those  lines  now ;  but  it  will  take 
much  time,  sir,  much  time." 

The  chief  swore  earnestly  beneath  his  breath  at  the 
muddle-headedness  of  all  slow-moving,  long-winded 
chemists  in  general  and  went  to  his  own  office  to  listen 
to  a  report  from  one  of  his  operatives  who  had  been 
tracing  the  back  track  of  Springvale,  the  young  man 
who  had  died  in  the  charcoal  burners'  camp. 

Secret  Service  operatives  usually  work  in  pairs ;  it 
tends  not  only  to  more  effective  service,  but  it  also 
enables  one  man  to  turn  in  a  report  while  the  other 
man  remains  on  the  job.  It  was  only  because  the 
chief  thought  so  little  of  his  clue  that  he  had  not  sent 
another  man  to  follow  Jensen  immediately  after  get 
ting  his  telephone  message  from  Burlington. 

It  was  a  man  named  Crewly,  a  stout,  curt-speaking, 
smooth-faced  fellow,  who  had  come  in  to  report  re 
garding  what  he  and  his  co-worker,  Varick,  had  dis 
covered  in  regard  to  Springvale. 

"  Well,  we  found  out  who  that  fellow  Springvale 
was  and  considerable  about  him,"  said  Crewly,  as 
he  sat  at  the  chief's  desk  in  the  Treasury  Build 
ing. 

"  Bully !  "  laconically  answered  Hilkie.     "  Is  it  a 


62       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

lead  ?  The  department  is  crowding  me  mighty  hard ; 
they  want  developments." 

"  Springvale's  home  was  in  Duluth,"  said  Crewly. 
"  He  was  by  birth  an  Englishman,  but  was  educated 
at  Harvard,  took  a  special  course  in  mining  engineer 
ing  at  the  Institute  of  Technology,  went  to  South 
America  and  fought  with  the  Argentine  rebels  when 
they  overthrew  Vastro.  Came  back  and  went  to  work 
for  the  Kerrison  syndicate,  locating  prospects  and 
laying  out  mines  in  Alaska." 

"  Worked  for  the  Kerrisons,  did  he  ?  "  broke  in  the 
chief.  "  That's  odd,  may  be  important,  too." 

Chief  Hilkie  knew  a  little  of  the  Kerrisons,  two 
brothers  banded  together  in  a  close  corporation 
known  as  the  Kerrison  Syndicate.  They  were  often- 
est  referred  to  as  the  "  Gold  Kings."  They  had 
done  much  to  develop  the  resources  of  Alaska,  yet  they 
were  not  popular  men.  J.  J.,  the  older  of  the  two, 
owned  a  couple  of  newspapers  in  his  home  State  and 
had  once  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  break  into 
the  United  States  Senate.  Since  then  the  Kerrison 
Syndicate  had  been  continually  involved  in  labor 
troubles.  The  fact  that  he  could  not  boost  himself 
into  a  seat  in  the  Senate  was  said  to  have  thoroughly 
soured  the  disposition  of  old  J.  J.  and  made  him  a 
very  devil  to  work  for. 


WHAT  CREWLY  DISCOVERED     63 

"  Varick  and  I  went  up  to  that  charcoal  camp  near 
Burlington,"  continued  Crewly,  "  got  the  body  of 
Springvale,  and  took  it  to  his  mother  at  Duluth. 
His  father  is  dead.  Springvale  was  still  supposed 
to  be  working  for  the  Kerrison  people ;  but  for  some 
reason  I  could  not  discover,  his  mother  felt  very  hard 
against  the  Kerrisons.  The  death  of  her  only  son 
broke  the  old  lady  down  completely." 

"  What  sort  of  a  chap  was  this  Springvale  ?  "  in 
quired  the  chief. 

"  Wild,"  answered  Crewly.  "  A  born  soldier  of 
fortune,  if  what  his  intimates  say  was  true;  clever 
at  his  profession,  but  sticking  to  it  for  the  adventure 
rather  than  for  fame  or  the  money  reward.  His 
mother  is  very  wealthy  in  her  own  right,  and  the  son 
had  no  need  to  work,  so  she  assured  me." 

"  What  sort  of  people  were  these  intimates  of 
Springvale  ?  "  inquired  the  chief. 

"  Mostly  college  chaps  with  the  same  turn  of  mind 
as  himself,"  answered  Crewly.  "  For  all  his  wild 
nature,  they  told  me  Springvale  was  a  mighty  clean 
fellow." 

"  Not  at  all  the  young  man  who  would  become 
mixed  up  in  a  counterfeiting  plot,  you  think  ?  "  asked 
the  chief,  who  seldom  failed  to  pump  his  subordi 
nates  dry  of  their  individual  opinions,  in  addition  to 


64.       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

getting  all  the  actual  facts  they  were  able  to  dig 
up. 

"  No-o,"  answered  Crewly  a  trifle  slowly,  as  if 
considering  the  matter  in  every  light.  "  Not  in  any 
ordinary  counterfeiting  scheme ;  but  if  some  one  were 
to  come  along  with  a  plan  bigger  than  was  ever  imag 
ined  before,  he  was  the  sort  that  might  possibly  be 
come  interested,  just  for  the  bigness  of  the  thing, — 
the  novelty  and  the  adventure  it  promised.  That's 
the  way  I  catalogue  Springvale.  But  Varick  and  I 
have  traced  down  his  every  movement  for  the  last 
three  years,  since  he  left  Tech,  and  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  a  thing  that  isn't  open  to  free  daylight  — 
except  his  stay  in  the  Argentine,  which  no  one  seems 
to  know  much  about." 

"  Married  ?  "  inquired  Chief  Hilkie. 

"  No,  and,  like  his  sort,  very  shy  of  women." 

"  Where  was  he  going  when  he  hit  the  charcoal 
burners'  camp ;  did  you  find  that  out  ?  " 

"  On  his  way  to  the  region  above  Ungava  and 
lower  Labrador;  the  Kerrisons  seem  to  have  been 
combing  that  territory  for  mining  possibilities  for 
several  years;  they  have  had  several  mining  pros 
pectors  up  there,  at  one  time  or  another,  under  Koyal 
license.  Springvale  had  been  down  to  make  a  re 
port  and  was  on  his  way  back  when  he  went  insane 


WHAT  CREWLY  DISCOVERED     65 

from  some  injury  or  illness.  All  these  men  of  theirs 
were  back  and  forth  continually." 

"  Tim !  not  much  in  that,"  sighed  the  chief  regret 
fully.  "  Springvale  might  have  come  by  that  money 
as  naturally  as  you  or  I.  It  is  very  likely  to  have 
been  his  expense  money  furnished  by  the  Kerrison 
people." 

"  By  George !  "  The  chief  straightened  galvan- 
ically  up  in  his  swivel  chair  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
been  struck  with  the  surprise  of  his  life. 

"  Say,"  he  continued  hurriedly,  "  you  and  Varick 
follow  on  hot-foot  after  Jensen;  don't  lose  a  second, 
but  get  to  him  as  quick  as  you  can.  You'll  be  able 
to  pick  up  his  trail  at  Lake  Lucann  in  upper  Quebec, 
where  I  last  heard  from  him.  He  was  striking  out 
for  what  he  thought  was  a  place  called  the  '  Little 
Babos  Camp '  on  the  Little  Babos  Kiver.  It's  in 
definite,  but  do  the  best  you  can.  Get  to  him;  find 
out  what  he  knows  and  send  Varick  hot-foot  with  a 
report  to  the  nearest  telegraph  station  as  soon  as 
anything  turns  up.  It's  rather  late  to  go  into  that 
country,  but  you'll  have  .to  make  the  best  of  it.  I 
must  hear  from  Jensen.  I  believe  I  made  a  misplay 
in  taking  that  lead  of  his  so  lightly.  It  looks  bigger 
to  me  now,  and  if  it's  what  I  think,  he  has  had  too 
little  experience  to  handle  the  thing  alone." 


66       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Crewly  got  up  to  go,  buttoning  his  coat  as  if  he 
were  already  on  the  way.  He  was  accustomed  to 
just  this  sort  of  sudden  twist  of  things. 

"  How  about  the  K.N.W.M.P.  ?  "  he  inquired,  as 
he  strode  toward  the  door.  "  Any  help  there  ?  " 

"  The  Northwest  Mounted  Police  ?  I  think  not. 
Ungava  is  rather  out  of  their  regular  territory.  If 
you  should  strike  any  of  them,  however,  you  can 
flash  your  shield  and  make  inquiries.  I'll  dictate  a 
letter  of  exact  instructions,  write  a  check  for  expense 
money,  and  have  them  handed  to  you  when  you  board 
the  twelve-forty-two  for  Quebec  to-night.  That's  a 
rough  country  up  there ;  get  yourself  thoroughly  out 
fitted  at  Quebec,  or,  better  still,  fit  out  at  Lake 
Lucann,  if  possible.  Keep  in  touch  with  me  as  long 
as  possible  by  telephone  and  telegraph.  Take  along 
one  of  those  Telefunken  portable  wireless  outfits  and 
try  to  use  it  after  you  get  beyond  the  regular  wires ; 
Varick  can  operate.  It  may  reach  me  and  it  may 
not,  but  there's  a  relay  at  Cape  Sable;  it's  worth  a 
try.  I'm  going  to  the  New  York  headquarters ;  send 
your  reports  there." 

Crewly  hurried  away  to  prepare  for  his  trip  north. 
Immediately  after  his  departure,  Chief  Hilkie  began 
to  press  push  buttons  on  his  desk  at  a  furious  rate, 
summoning  men  from  every  corner  of  the  building 


WHAT  CREWLY  DISCOVERED     67 

and  dispatching  telegrams  to  half  a  dozen  different 
States  of  the  Union.  The  chief's  mind  had  fallen 
afoul  of  another  big  idea  and,  with  his  usual  en 
thusiasm,  he  was  swinging  all  his  guns  into  action. 
Previously  Chief  Hilkie  had  been  chasing  out  that 
mysterious  mine  of  "  ithite " ;  now  he  wanted  to 
know  all  that  it  was  possible  to  learn  about  the  Ker- 
rison  people.  Chief  Hilkie  sometimes  made  mis 
takes,  yet  they  never  caused  his  next  effort  to  be  pur 
sued  with  any  the  less  ardor. 


VI 

THE    CAJOLING    OF    DAN    THE    SWEDE 

BEFOEE  Dan  the  Swede  entered  the  cabin  on 
the  Little  Babos,  the  fire  had  died  down,  leav 
ing  the  room  somewhat  poorly  lighted.  Being  busy 
with  the  desire  to  gratify  his  stomach,  he  had  no 
ticed  neither  Miss  Kerrison  nor  Alan  Jensen.  After 
chaining  Babe  in  her  corner,  Peter  Saint  threw  fresh 
logs  on  the  blaze,  and  the  big  man  first  appeared  to 
catch  sight  of  the  habitan's  two  guests.  With  a 
brusque  glance  at  Jensen,  the  Swede  stopped  his  eat 
ing  and  strode  toward  Miss  Kerrison.  Thrusting 
out  a  greasy  paw  and  with  his  jaws  still  munching 
food,  he  roared: 

"  Hi !  Hi !  My  eye !  But  I  'ban  surprised ! 
Here  ban  Miss  Mallabee!  Hallo,  Miss  Mallabee. 
You  ban  glad  see  Big  Dan,  I  bat  you  ? "  His  face 
broke  into  what  he  probably  intended  should  be  a 
most  fetching  smile,  but  his  distorted  features  turned 
it  into  a  vile  leer. 

Jensen's  heart   dropped.     She  had  lied  to  him. 


CAJOLING  OF  DAN  69 

Her  name,  it  seemed,  was  Mallabee,  not  Kerrison. 
Or  perhaps  she  was  in  the  habit  of  owning  to  more 
than  one  name  ?  Jensen  had  built  up  in  his  heart  a 
cherished  dream  of  something  much  finer  than  this. 
Well,  the  dream  was  shattered  now ;  yet  he  felt  like 
beating  the  big  man's  face  into  a  jelly  for  that  leer. 

"  Come,  come,  my  man,  you'll  have  to  mind  your 
manners  better  than  that,"  said  Jensen  impulsively. 
"  Don't  you  know  enough  to  wash  that  filthy  hand  of 
yours  before  you  offer  it  to  a  lady  ? " 

Jensen  frowned  darkly  as  he  stepped  between  the 
outstretched  greasy  paw  of  the  Swede  and  the  young 
woman  whom  he  must  now  call  Miss  Mallabee. 

The  Swede  broke  into  a  roaring  guffaw  that  fairly 
shook  the  rafters  of  the  cabin,  and  Jensen  could 
scarcely  believe  his  own  eyes  when  he  saw  Miss  Mal 
labee  step  forward,  grasp  the  Swede's  huge,  dirty 
fist  in  both  of  hers  and  shake  it  warmly,  as  she  de 
clared  with  a  rather  forced  laugh: 

"  He  doesn't  understand,  Dan ;  old  friends  such 
as  we  don't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that,  do  we  ?  " 

"  Ay  tank  not,"  answered  the  Swede.  "  Miss 
Mallabee  and  Big  Dan  ban  good  friends  all  right, 
Mist'—  Mist'—" 

"  Let  me  make  you  acquainted,"  said  Miss  Malla 
bee,  cooaujg-  tt>  his  relief.  "  This  is  Mr.  AJan,  Ker- 


70       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

rison,  Mr.  Daniel  Larsen.  Shake  hands,  gentle 
men." 

She  gently  touched  Jensen's  arm,  and  he  thought 
he  caught  a  meaning  glance  from  her  eyes.  Since 
she  had  already  shaken  that  great  expanse  of  greasy 
fingers,  he  could  do  no  less.  In  his  grasp  they  felt 
like  a  bunch  of  squirming  eels. 

"  Hello,  Mist'  Kerrison.  I  ban  damn  glad  to  see 
you,"  saluted  the  Swede,  eyeing  Jensen's  athletic 
form  from  head  to  heels  with  an  approving  glance. 
"  Ay  tank  you  ban  damn  fine  man."  He,  too,  ac 
cented  the  expletive  and  seemed  to  watch  Jensen's 
face  keenly  with  those  pig-like  eyes  of  his  as  he  did 

80. 

It  suddenly  came  to  Jensen  with  the  impact  of 
complete  conviction  that  this  man,  of  all  the  three 
who  had  arrived  at  the  Little  Babos  camp,  was  the 
true  "  messenger  from  the  North  "  alluded  to  in  the 
note,  and  that  the  tote  bag  the  man  carried  on  his 
back  contained  the  package  Springvale  had  been  com 
ing  for.  If  this  were  true,  he  knew  it  would  not  do 
to  antagonize  this  Swede. 

"  Hello,  Big  Dan,"  he  saluted  in  return,  as  he 
shook  the  Swede's  hand.  "  I'm  damn  glad  to  know 
you,  too." 

Big  Dan's  features  broke  into  a  broad  grin.     "  Jas, 


CAJOLING  OF  DAN  71 

Ay  gas  you  ban  all  right ;  '  damn '  ban  the  word, 
Mist'  Kerrison." 

"  That's  what,"  nodded  Jensen.  "  I  think  you 
are  the  man  I  was  sent  up  to  meet  here,  and,  if  I 
don't  mistake,  that  tote  bag  on  your  back  contains 
a  package  I  am  to  take  with  me  on  the  return  trail." 
Jensen  reached  out  his  hand  and  touched  the  big 
fellow's  pack. 

The  Swede  backed  away  slightly  as  he  answered: 
"  Mabbe  yes,  mabbe  no ;  we  skall  see  about  that  later ; 
yust  now  I  tank  I  have  some  more  chuck.  Ay  ban 
mighty  hongry,  Ay  tole  you.  Come  on,  Miss  Malla- 
bee,  you  and  Big  Dan  skall  eat  supper  together  while 
Pete  Saint  and  this  man  ban  smoke  pipes  by  the 
fire." 

The  Swede  grasped  Miss  Mallabee's  arm,  and  the 
two  marched  off  toward  the  supper  table  as  if  the 
best  of  friends.  Jensen  watched  them,  puzzled,  and, 
it  must  be  confessed,  rather  disgusted.  The  young 
woman  might  be  playing  a  part  forced  upon  her,  yet, 
he  thought,  she  had  no  need  to  play  it  quite  so 
naturally.  The  more  he  saw  of  the  big  Swede,  the 
greater  became  his  antipathy  toward  him. 

Peter  Saint  busied  himself  tidying  up  the  cabin 
for  the  night.  Babe  growled  in  her  corner,  occa 
sionally  essaying  a  flying  leap  in  attempting  to  snap 


72       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

her  chain.  Outside  the  other  dogs  were  now  quiet, 
save  for  an  occasional  querulous  whine.  The  storm 
still  raged  with  unabated  fury.  Jensen  filled  his 
pipe  from  the  jar  of  Perique  on  the  shelf  above  the 
fireplace  and  threw  himself  at  full  length  on  a  bench 
in  a  shadowed  corner  where  he  had  a  fairly  clear 
view  of  Big  Dan  and  Miss  Mallabee  seated  at  the 
table. 

Dan  the  Swede,  gormandizing  his  food  like  an  ani 
mal,  appeared  to  possess  the  appetite  of  one.  Miss 
Mallabee  sat  opposite  him.  For  all  his  coarseness, 
the  big  Swede  seemed  to  yield  a  rough  sort  of  defer 
ence  to  her,  and  this  action  Jensen  could  understand 
least  of  all. 

He  could  not  hear  their  talk,  for  they  spoke  low,  but 
the  Swede  still  wore  his  tote  bag  fastened  by  shoulder 
straps,  though  he  had  discarded  the  tump  line.  Sev 
eral  times  Jensen  saw  Miss  Mallabee  make  motions 
as  if  urging  the  Swede  to  remove  his  pack,  at  which 
Big  Dan  shook  his  head  in  denial. 

Finally,  having  somewhat  appeased  his  desire  for 
food,  Dan  got  up  from  the  stool  on  which  he  sat  and 
moved  around  the  bench  on  which  Miss  Mallabee 
was  seated. 

The  cumbersome  tote  bag  interfered  with  his 
seating  himself  on  the  bench,  and  Jensen  saw  Miss 


CAJOLING  OF  DAN  73 

Mallabee  arise  with  a  good-natured  laugh  and  begin 
to  unbuckle  the  straps  that  encircled  the  Swede's 
massive  shoulders.  At  first  Big  Dan  offered  some 
protest  to  this ;  but  she  playfully  drew  one  hand  down 
his  cheek,  and  he  suffered  her  to  continue. 

Having  released  the  bag  from  his  shoulders,  Miss 
Mallabee  was  for  throwing  it  into  a  corner ;  but  Dan 
would  not  permit  that.  He  took  it  from  her  hands 
and  carefully  placed  it  beneath  his  feet,  after  which 
the  young  woman  resumed  her  seat  on  the  bench,  and 
they  continued  their  conversation  in  low  tones. 

Jensen's  injured  arm  had  been  paining  him  furi 
ously  for  some  time ;  but  as  he  continued  to  lie  quiet, 
and  the  fumes  of  the  Perique  soothed  his  nerves,  it 
began  to  feel  easier. 

Whether  it  was  the  effect  of  Peter  Saint's  generous 
supper  or  the  heat  of  the  room  he  did  not  know ;  but 
after  a  few  moments  he  began  to  be  drowsy  and  sev 
eral  times  caught  himself  almost  dropping  off  into 
sleep  as  he  lay  there  on  the  bench  musing  about  his 
quest. 

So  far  he  could  not  consider  that  any  epoch-mark 
ing  progress  had  been  made  on  Case  BM432.  That 
there  was  something  crooked  going  on  between  them 
that  made  these  people  at  the  Little  Babos  camp  fear 
the  Secret  Service  he  was  certain  of.  And  they 


74      A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

knew  the  man  Springvale,  and  Springvale  had  had 
the  spurious  coin  in  his  possession.  All  this  con 
vinced  Jensen  that  he  was  on  the  right  track;  but 
just  how  far  Miss  Mallabee,  Peter  Saint,  and  Dan 
the  Swede  were  involved  in  the  counterfeiting  he 
could  not  decide.  Neither  the  Swede  nor  the  hab- 
itan  appeared  to  possess  a  sufficient  degree  of  in 
telligence  to  be  either  at  the  head,  or  even  close  to  the 
head,  of  so  extensive  a  counterfeiting  plan.  They 
were  more  likely  subordinates  who  understood  little 
or  nothing  of  what  was  really  going  on.  Yet  there 
was  no  telling  about  Peter  Saint;  he  was  a  puzzle; 
at  times  Jensen  entertained  a  conviction  that  the  man 
was  not  at  all  what  he  appeared  to  be  on  the  surface. 
When  it  came  to  Miss  Mallabee,  Jensen  was  also 
obliged  to  acknowledge  himself  to  be  considerably  at 
sea.  Very  reluctantly  he  had  placed  her  in  his 
scheme  of  things  as  close  to  the  focal  point  of  the 
entire  affair,  yet  at  no  time  since  she  had  first  ap 
peared  in  the  cabin  had  he  been  able  to  erase  from  his 
memory  that  peculiar,  pathetic  appeal  of  sadness  in 
her  eyes  and  in  the  mask  of  her  face.  Around  it  he 
had  been  pleased  to  weave  a  rather  romantic  little 
dream;  she  knew  all  about  this  big  counterfeiting 
plan,  but  in  the  actual  working  out  she  had  no  part ; 
she  just  knew  and  was  sorry,  that  was  all.  Thus 


CAJOLING  OF  DAN  75 

does  beauty  and  a  melancholy  glance  silence  the  most 
sober  common  sense  when  youth  appeals  to  youth  in 
the  flush  of  its  first  adventure. 

That  the  young  woman  really  knew  most  of  the 
facts  he  wanted  to  know  he  felt  reasonably  sure,  yet, 
at  times,  it  was  extremely  difficult  for  him  to  even 
hold  to  this  idea  in  the  face  of  her  air  of  good  breed 
ing.  Yet,  again,  when  he  remembered  how  she  had 
deceived  him  regarding  her  name,  and  when  he  saw 
her  exerting  coarse  feminine  blandishments  in  cajol 
ing  Dan  the  Swede  to  discard  his  tote  bag  he  was 
almost  ready  to  believe  anything  of  her. 

Jensen  suddenly  opened  his  eyes.  As  he  at 
tempted  to  turn  his  head,  the  cramped  condition  of 
his  limbs  and  numbed  shoulders  indicated  that  he 
must  Jiave  dropped  off  into  complete  sleep.  It  was 
fearfully  hot  in  the  room  now,  he  thought,  yet  he 
was  not  sweating,  and  his  mouth  felt  as  dry  as  a  piece 
of  wool.  Peter  Saint  was  nowhere  in  sight ;  neither 
could  Jensen  hear  him  moving  about  anywhere.  The 
firelight  showed  Babe  stretched  out  on  her  side  in 
her  corner  asleep ;  the  twitching  muscles  of  her  legs 
indicating  that  her  dreams  were  of  recent  animosi 
ties.  Dan  the  Swede  and  Miss  Mallabee  were  still 
seated  on  the  bench  across  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room. 


76       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Jensen  attempted  to  rise  to  a  sitting  position ;  the 
exertion  made  him  faint  and  giddy,  and  a  furious 
twinge  of  pain  shot  down  his  limb.  He  became 
aware  for  the  first  time  that  his  entire  left  arm  had 
swollen  to  such  size  that  it  almost  filled  the  sleeve  of 
his  mackinaw  coat,  and  the  bandages  Peter  Saint  had 
adjusted  felt  like  bands  of  steel  crushing  the  very 
bone.  Lifting  his  head,  for  he  could  not  arise,  try 
as  he  would,  Jensen  looked  down  at  his  hand;  the 
skin  was  all  blotched  with  purple,  the  hand  swollen 
greatly.  Like  the  crushing  down  of  a  heavy  weight, 
it  came  to  him  that  this  must  be  blood  poisoning 
from  either  the  axe  cut  made  several  days  back  or 
from  the  bite  of  Peter  Saint's  dog,  he  did  not  know 
which.  The  thought  of  what  this  meant  to  his  mis 
sion  into  the  North  made  him  even  more  faint  and 
sick.  And  now  he  began  to  sense  strange  and  out 
landish  ideas,  utterly  foreign  to  all  sane  thought,  at 
tempting  to  crowd  into  his  brain. 

As  Jensen  looked  toward  Miss  Mallabee  and  Dan 
the  Swede,  undecided  whether  to  call  out  or  to  re 
main  quiet,  he  noted  that  Big  Dan  was  sitting  oddly 
quiet,  his  feet  still  resting  upon  the  tote  bag,  but 
with  his  head  hanging  strangely.  Miss  Mallabee  was 
slowly  moving  away  from  him.  Jensen  thought  he 
knew  what  it  meant  ;•  Big1  Dan^  his  hfeavy  bofy  made 


CAJOLING  OF  DAN  77 

logy  by  the  tremendous  supper  he  had  recently  par 
taken  of,  must  be  asleep. 

Having  drawn  entirely  away  from  her  seat  beside 
the  Swede,  Miss  Mallabee  reached  down  and  lifted 
one  of  Big  Dan's  feet  from  the  tote  bag.  Slowly, 
gently,  the  huge  splay  foot  was  lowered  until  it  rested 
upon  the  floor.  Then  the  other  foot  was  softly  re 
moved  in  the  same  manner,  and  Jensen  saw  her  begin 
to  drag  away  the  tote  bag,  inch  by  inch. 

Soon  she  deemed  it  safe  to  move  more  rapidly, 
and  grasping  the  bag  with  both  hands,  she  dragged  it 
toward  the  fire.  Crouching  there,  she  drew  a  cased 
hunting-knife  from  her  bosom  and  began  to  rip  away 
the  canvas  covering  with  quick,  nervous  movements. 

In  an  instant  Jensen  realized  that  whatever  Big 
Dan  the  Swede  carried  in  his  bag,  it  was  of  as  great 
interest  to  Miss  Mallabee  as  it  was  to  him ;  it  put  a 
gleam  of  hope  into  his  heart  that  she  might  not  be 
mixed  up  in  this  colossal  counterfeiting  plot  to  her 
discredit  after  all. 

Just  what  was  in  the  bag  he  could  not  see,  for  Miss 
Mallabee  merely  ran  her  arm  in  where  she  had  ripped 
open  the  canvas  and  appeared  to  be  searching  for 
something.  Finally  she  drew  out  a  folded  paper, 
opened  it,  glanced  for  an  instant  at  the  contents,  and 
then  thrust  it  into  the  bosom  of  her  waist.  Then  she 


78       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

drew  from  the  bag  several  irregular  discs  of  flat  white 
material  and  held  them  toward  the  firelight  to  inspect 
them.  Even  from  the  distance  where  he  lay  Jensen 
could  see  that  these  circles  she  held  in  her  hand  bore 
the  impressions  of  double  eagles ! 

Miss  Mallabee  drew  a  gold  coin  from  her  skirt 
pocket  and  matched  it  against  one  of  the  white  discs. 

In  his  eagerness  to  lose  no  movement  of  the  young 
woman,  Jensen  attempted  to  turn  his  body  so  that 
he  might  gain  a  clearer  view.  The  pain  thus  caused 
must  have  made  him  cry  out,  for,  in  his  hectic,  half- 
bewildered  condition,  he  heard  his  own  voice  utter 
a  mumbling  shout. 

As  the  sound  of  his  cry  split  the  silence  of  the 
cabin,  Miss  Mallabee  tossed  the  white  discs  quickly 
into  the  fire  and  crouched  lower  in  startled  attitude 
over  the  opened  bag  in  an  effort  to  conceal  it.  Dan 
the  Swede  lifted  his  head.  Even  his  sleep-dazed 
brain  sensed  conditions  with  that  unerring  instinct 
nature  imparts  to  those  who  live  much  in  the  open. 
With  a  brute-like  bellow,  he  rushed  toward  the  kneel 
ing  woman  and  twisted  his  great  fingers  about  her 
throat  as  he  shouted : 

"  Yon  ban  treacherous  cat,  Kerry  Mallabee ;  you 
ban  worse  than  wolverine.  Damn  you,  you  try  to 
make  fool  of  Big  Dan !  " 


CAJOLING  OF  DAN  79 

With  gripping  fingers,  the  Swede  bent  the  young 
woman's  form  across  his  knee  and  gazed  down  evilly 
into  her  wide,  staring  eyes  that  shone  like  spots  of 
fire  against  the  dead  blue-white  of  her  face. 

For  an  instant  she  gasped  and  struggled  weakly, 
then  lay  quiet  across  his  knee,  and  her  body  relaxed. 


VII 

HATE    OF   THE    WOLF 

AT  sight  of  the  young  woman  being  so  cruelly 
strangled,  Jensen  was  overcome  with  blind 
fury.  A  world  of  love  for  the  woman  and  hate  for 
the  man  filled  his  heart.  Calling  all  his  lagging 
energies  into  play,  he  arose  to  his  feet,  only  to  stagger 
headlong  for  a  single  step  and  crumple  impotently 
to  the  floor;  the  fever  raging  in  his  swollen  arm  had 
rendered  him  more  helpless  than  a  child. 

For  an  instant  the  Swede  gazed  down  into  Miss 
Mallabee's  staring,  unseeing  eyes,  his  own  features 
distorted  with  animal-like  rage.  Then  his  mood 
changed,  and  he  broke  into  a  horrid,  gurgling  chuckle, 
drew  her  face  closer  and  upward  toward  his  own,  and 
began  to  cover  her  lips  with  kisses,  mouthing,  mean 
while,  mingled  curses  and  coarse  terms  of  endear 
ment. 

Jensen,  lying  there  helpless,  could  bear  no  more; 
he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  shuddering  intake  of  breath 
only  to  open  them  again  as  a  quick  inspiration  raced 
through  his  maddened  brain.  Babe,  in  her  corner, 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  81 

snapping  and  snarling  at  the  length  of  her  steel 
chain;  Babe,  with  her  wolf  heart  nursing  a  terrific 
hate  of  the  Swede!  He  had  not  sufficient  strength 
to  arise,  but  he  thought  he  might  manage  to  roll  his 
body  over  and  over  until  he  reached  her  side. 

At  the  cost  of  infinite  pain,  he  gained  the  dog's 
side.  With  one  desperate  effort  of  his  good  arm  he 
loosed  the  snap  that  caught  chain  to  collar  and  yelled 
shrilly : 

"  At  him,  Babe !     Good  girl,  get  him !  " 

It  was  enough.  Her  wolf  soul  seared  with  the 
cherished  hate  of  years,  Babe,  the  big  wolf-collie, 
shot  through  the  air,  a  flaming  yellow  streak  of  fur 
and  gleaming  fangs.  True  as  an  arrow  in  her  aim, 
she  caught  the  Swede  fair  upon  his  right  shoulder 
with  the  full  impact  of  her  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  weight,  knocking  him  backward  to  the  floor. 
Then,  with  a  snarling  cry,  her  iron  jaws  clamped 
about  his  throat. 

A  moan  of  fright  broke  from  the  Swede's  lips  as 
he  felt  the  fury  of  Babe's  hurtled  form,  a  cry  that 
became  a  stifled  whimper,  as  the  dog's  jaws  crunched 
home  upon  his  throat.  Coward  though  he  was  at 
heart,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  made  the 
Swede  fight.  Fastening  his  fingers  in  the  dog's  yel 
low  hair,  he  fought  to  twist  her  head  away  from  his 


82       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

throat.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  loosen  the  grip 
her  hate  held  fast. 

Certain  that  unless  he  could  release  them  quickly, 
death  was  in  those  fangs  crunching  relentlessly  into 
his  spine,  the  Swede  now  attempted  to  roll  his  huge 
body  over  and  get  Babe  upon  her  back  beneath  him. 
The  vast  bulk  of  the  man  was  more  effective  at  this 
sort  of  game,  and  his  skill  as  a  wrestler  enabled  him 
to  finally  turn  the  dog,  first  onto  her  side  and  then 
beneath  him.  But  the  pain  of  her  jaws  would  not 
permit  him  to  take  advantage  of  his  position  and 
bring  his  full  weight  crushing  down  upon  her  lungs. 
Those  teeth,  biting  home  into  his  very  spinal  mar 
row,  making  every  nerve  in  his  body  cry  out  with 
acute  agony,  weakening  each  muscle  at  its  source  of 
energy,  and  paralyzing  his  very  brain  itself,  rendered 
him  well  nigh  helpless.  He  could  only  hug  the  body 
of  the  dog  in  his  arms  and  roll  blindly  across  the 
floor  moaning  with  pain. 

It  was  wolf  uppermost  in  the  dog's  nature  now, 
and  Babe's  iron  grip  upon  the  Swede's  neck  grew 
tighter,  until  finally  the  pain-crazed  man  was  forced 
to  one  last  desperate  effort. 

As  the  room  began  to  turn  black  about  him,  he 
managed  to  arise  to  his  feet,  dragging  the  dog  with 
him.  Then,  fastening  his  fingers  in  Babe's  jaws,  he 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  83 

pried  them  open  and  thrust  her  from  him.  But  it 
was  too  late,  the  dog  had  done  her  work.  With  a 
staggering  lunge,  the  Swede  hurtled  dizzily  forward 
into  the  fireplace,  dead,  scattering  glowing  brands 
right  and  left  across  the  cabin  floor. 

Miss  Mallabee  lay  senseless  where  Big  Dan  had 
cast  her  when  the  dog's  body  struck  him.  Her  hate 
appeased,  Babe  was  barking  and  dashing  at  the  door 
that  led  into  the  second  room  of  the  cabin.  The 
thick,  furry  skin  where  Jensen  had  lain  upon  the 
floor  before  the  fire  when  his  arm  was  dressed  was 
blazing  furiously.  The  dry,  tinder-like  logs  of  the 
cabin  floor  were  afire  in  half  a  dozen  other  places 
where  the  brands  scattered  by  the  Swede's  body  had 
caught.  In  a  few  moments  the  entire  building  would 
be  ablaze. 

Beset  by  fever  and  delirium,  Jensen  hardly  real 
ized  whether  the  dancing  flames  about  him  were  real 
or  fancy.  He  could  do  no  more  than  lie  there  help 
less,  thinking  over  and  over  again :  "  Where  was 
Peter  Saint?  Where  was  Peter  Saint?  Would  he 
never  come  in  answer  to  the  dog's  cries?  Had  he 
purposely  remained  away ;  was  it  a  plot  between  Miss 
Mallabee  and  the  habitan  that  he  should  keep  out  of 
sight  while  she  attempted  to  beguile  the  big  Swede 
into  discarding  his  pack  ?  " 


84       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

To  Jensen  it  seemed  an  eternity ;  yet  it  could  have 
been  but  a  few  seconds  before  the  door  at  which  Babe 
was  furiously  barking  opened,  and  Peter  Saint  stuck 
out  his  tousled,  satyr  head,  enquiring  sleepily : 

"  Baby,  be  quiet !  Why  den  you  don'  let  Sin 
Petair  sleep,  what,  eh  ?  " 

Jensen  had  just  strength  enough  left  to  shout : 

"  The  cabin  is  ablaze.  Big  Dan  fell  into  the  fire 
place  and  scattered  the  fire  all  over  the  floor;  it's 
burning  in  a  dozen  places.  The  Swede  is  dead ;  get 
Miss  Mallabee  out  quick."  Then  he  lost  conscious 
ness,  and  his  voice  trailed  off  into  a  whisper. 

Peter  Saint's  sensitive  nose  had  already  caught  the 
odor  of  burning  fur  and  flesh.  He  reached  down 
and  laid  one  hand  on  the  dog's  head  as  he  cried : 

"  By  Gar,  dere's  sure  wan  beeg  fire  loose  heere 
somewhere.  Show  Sin  Petair  de  young  lady,  queek, 
my  Baby!  Queek,  queek,  B&by,  de  young  lady, 
Meese  Mallabee !  " 

Catching  the  habitan's  meaning  after  he  had  re 
peated  Miss  Mallabee's  name  several  times,  Babe  led 
her  master  to  where  the  young  woman  lay  inert  upon 
the  floor.  The  flames  had  almost  reached  her  skirts ; 
a  moment  more,  and  her  clothing  would  have  been 
ablaze. 

Picking  up  her  limp  form  in  his  arms,  Peter  Saint 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  85 

ran  stumbling  toward  the  outer  door,  found  it,  threw 
back  the  bar,  and  carried  her  outside,  only  to  return 
quickly  as  he  cried  to  the  dog : 

"  Now  dese  young  man,  Baby !  Show  me  where 
is  dese  young  man  of  de  lettair,  my  good  Baby !  " 

Blind  as  he  was,  the  habitan  appeared  to  accurately 
sense  conditions  from  the  dog's  cries  and  actions,  and 
to  realize  that  it  was  no  use  to  attempt  to  save  the 
cabin,  that  little  more  than  human  lives  and  perhaps 
a  few  necessities  could  be  rescued. 

After  Jensen  had  been  dragged  outside  where  the 
cool  air  quickly  revived  him,  the  habitan  and  his  dog 
returned  to  make- what  salvage  they  might  of  provi 
sions,  blankets,  and  clothing. 

Cursing  the  fever  and  the  weakness  that  held  him 
captive,  unable  to  help,  Jensen  lay  motionless  upon 
Peter  Saint's  sledge,  surrounded  by  a  howling  horde 
of  wildly  excited  dogs,  the  storm  beating  about  his 
head  and  the  blazing  cabin  making  the  scene  appear 
like  a  dream  of  the  infernal  regions. 

The  wind  sent  spiral  clouds  of  sparks  whirling 
madly  upward  into  the  air.  Above  the  roar  of  the 
storm  could  be  heard  the  crash  of  timbers  as  they 
fell  snapping  into  the  pit  of  flame.  The  funeral 
pyre  of  Big  Dan  the  Swede  lacked  nothing  of  cruel 


86       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

The  biting  cold  soon  brought  a  little  strength  to 
Jensen's  body,  lowered  his  temperature,  and  drove 
away  the  images  of  delirium  that  had  beset  his 
thoughts.  He  buried  his  swollen  arm  in  the  snow 
and  felt  grateful  for  the  slight  temporary  ease  it  gave 
him  from  the  bitter  pain.  Then  he  arose  shakily  to 
a  sitting  position  and  looked  about  for  Miss  Mallabee. 
She  was  standing  close  by,  gazing  toward  him  with 
an  odd  look  wreathed  about  her  sensitive  mouth  and 
somber  eyes.  The  keen  outer  air  must  have  brought 
quick  recovery  to  her,  as  well  as  himself,  he  thought. 

The  instant  he  caught  that  odd  look  in  the  young 
woman's  eyes,  Jensen  realized  its  meaning.  Peter 
Saint  and  the  dog  were  exerting  all  their  efforts  to 
ward  saving  whatever  might  be  possible  from  the 
burning  cabin,  while  he  was  sitting  idle  watching 
them.  She  thought  him  a  coward,  and  this  was 
hardest  of  all  to  bear;  yet  what  could  he  say?  It 
was  not  for  him  to  tell  her  that  it  was  he  who  had 
loosed  the  dog  when  she  was  being  strangled  across 
the  knee  of  Dan  the  Swede ;  that  even  now  his  head 
so  reeled  with  fever  that  her  form  swayed  like  a 
wraith  in  his  sight.  There  was  nothing  he  could 
say ;  she  must  think  whatever  her  heart  prompted  her 
to  think. 

Something  in  the  man's  attitude,  perhaps  the  un- 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  87 

mistakable  record  of  agonizing  pain  in  his  features, 
or  the  unnatural  brilliance  of  his  eyes,  brought  the 
true-hearted  woman  in  Kerry  Mallabee  to  the  sur 
face. 

She  knelt  impulsively  beside  him  in  the  snow,  lift 
ing  his  swollen  arm  tenderly,  as  she  cried  in  grieved 
tones: 

"  You  are  hurt,  terribly.  See  how  your  arm  is 
swollen?  The  hand  is  purple  and  burning  hot. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  of  this  before  ?  It  must  be 
blood  poisoning  from  Babe's  teeth." 

Whether  it  was  the  pain  returning  to  his  injured 
arm  or  an  excess  of  feeling  at  the  young  woman's 
tender  sympathy  he  did  not  know;  but  something 
made  Jensen  crumple  up  backward  again,  weak  as  a 
baby,  as  he  heard  Miss  Mallabee  shout  to  Peter  Saint, 
who  was  now  busying  himself  straightening  out  the 
duffle  he  had  been  able  to  rescue  from  the  burning 
cabin : 

"  Peter !  Oh,  Peter !  Bring  me  your  medicine 
case  quickly.  This  man  is  desperately  ill !  He  must 
have  quinine  and  strychnine  immediately." 

Peter  Saint  and  Babe  came  running  toward  her 
through  the  whirl  of  snow  and  sleet. 

"  Eh,  what  ees  eet  you  ask,  Meese  ?  Deese  mede- 
cine  case,  eh  ?  Eet  ees  lef  een  de  burning  cabin." 


88       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  But  we  must  have  it,"  she  urged.  "  It  is  life 
or  death.  We  must,  must,"  she  shouted  in  his  ear 
above  the  roar  of  the  storm.  "  Can't  you  under 
stand,  the  man  is  dying  with  blood  poisoning,  per 
haps  contracted  from  Babe's  teeth !  " 

The  habitan  hunched  his  shoulders  and  thrust  for 
ward  open  palms  helplessly  as  he  answered : 

"  But  the  cabin,  she  burn." 

"  There's  Babe,  surely  you  can  send  her  in  once 
more  ? "  pleaded  Miss  Mallabee,  as  she  placed  her 
hand  on  the  habitan's  arm  and  looked  into  his  sight 
less  eyes  with  tears  in  her  own.  "  I  believe  Babe 
can  find  the  medicine  case  if  you  tell  her  where  it  is ; 
she  is  a  wonder  in  that  way." 

"  Wall !  Wall !  "  hesitated  Peter  Saint,  pleased  at 
the  compliment  she  had  paid  his  dog.  "  Dere  ees 
always  wan  chance,  surely,  eh  what,  my  Baby? 
Shall  we  try  for  breeng  out  dat  medicine  case  on  shelf 
in  corner?  That  black  bag  in  corner?  In  corner 
shelf ;  you  know  where  eese  dat,  my  Baby,  eh,  what  ?  " 

After  several  repetitions,  the  dog  appeared  to  un 
derstand  what  was  required  of  her.  She  raced 
eagerly  toward  the  doorway  framed  in  flames.  Peter 
Saint  called  her  back 

"You  wait  one  leetle  tarn,  my  Baby,"  he  said 
rather  sorrowfully.  "  I  fee.,  you  so  the  fire  don't 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  89 

catch  so  queek."  He  began  to  rub  great  handfuls  of 
wet  sleet  into  her  long  hair  until  she  was  plastered 
all  over.  Off  she  darted  again,  only  to  hear  her  mas 
ter  call  her  back  once  more  before  she  had  time  to 
reach  the  door.  Rubbing  snow  on  his  own  clothing, 
and  fastening  his  fingers  in  Babe's  collar,  Peter  Saint 
bent  down  and  said  tenderly : 

"  By  Gar,  my  Baby,  I  theenk  we  both  go,  eh, 
what?  Sin  Petair,  he  don'  send  heese  Baby  any 
where  he  don'  go  heemself.  By  Gar,  I  theenk 
not." 

It  was  a  gallant  act,  yet  Kerry  Mallabee  attempted 
to  restrain  the  habitan,  telling  him  it  was  no  time  for 
him  to  take  such  risk.  He  would  not  heed  her  pro 
tests.  With  wild  cries,  as  if  each  were  attempting 
to  cheer  on  the  other,  both  dog  and  man  disappeared 
inside  the  cabin  door. 

Jensen  saw  them  last  as  two  silhouetted  black  fig 
ures  cut  dimly  against  a  curtain  of  ugly  red  flames ; 
the  man  bending  low,  grasping  the  dog's  collar  with 
one  hand  and  shielding  his  face  with  the  other  arm. 
It  seemed  as  if  only  a  miracle  could  bring  either 
man  or  dog  out  alive  from  that  raging  hell  of  fire. 

A  moment  after  the  habitan  and  Babe  had  van 
ished  from  sight,  a  sudden  shift  of  wind  came  luckily 
from  the  south,  beating  back  the  flames  and  smoke 


90       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

toward  the  north  corner  of  the  cabin.  It  was  their 
one  chance. 

While  Jensen  and  Miss  Mallahee  watched  with 
eager,  straining  eyes,  two  forms  rimmed  in  red  glare 
came  crawling  back  toward  the  door,  but  coming 
pitifully  slow.  The  dog  could  barely  move  for  the 
weakness  engendered  by  her  smoke-choked  lungs,  yet 
she  dragged  her  master  bravely  on. 

"  Babe !  Good  Babe !  "  cried  Kerry  Mallabee, 
rushing  toward  them  and  trembling  with  eagerness 
in  every  limb.  "  Come  on !  Come  on ! >J 

At  last  Babe  gained  the  door.  With  one  final, 
desperate  leap,  she  dragged  her  master  out  into  a 
pile  of  snow  just  as  the  cabin  roof  crashed  in  with 
a  mighty  roar,  and  the  hungry  flames  shot  up  fifty 
feet  into  the  air.  And  Peter  Saint  hugged  that 
precious  medicine  case  in  his  arms,  even  as  he  and 
Babe  rolled  about  in  the  snow  to  quench  the  smould 
ering  flames  that  dotted  the  furry  coat  of  one  and  the 
clothing  of  the  other. 

Happily  neither  Peter  nor  the  dog  Babe  had 
breathed  the  killing  flames  into  their  lungs  during 
their  courageous  dash  into  the  burning  Little  Babos 
cabin ;  hardened  veterans  of  the  wild  North  that  they 
were,  it  was  but  a  moment  before  both  felt  quite 
themselves  again. 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  91 

"  Give  me  the  medicine  case,"  cried  Kerry  Malla- 
bee,  as  Peter  Saint  stood  up,  beating  the  snow  from 
his  smouldering  clothes  and  gulping  in  great  mouth- 
fuls  of  the  cold  air  to  clear  his  lungs  of  smoke. 
"  You  are  a  brave  man,  Peter  Saint,  and  Babe  is  a 
dear,  as  I  always  knew  she  was.  Now  we  must  see 
what  can  be  done  for  this  man.  I  am  afraid  he  is 
very  ill." 

Jensen  lay  supine  on  Peter  Saint's  sledge,  seeing 
little,  hearing  less.  He  was  trying  with  all  his 
strength  to  fight  back  the  nightmare  of  ideas  that 
seemed  closing  in  on  him.  He  knew  it  was  delirium, 
knew  it  meant  the  failure  of  his  mission  if  he  al 
lowed  it  to  get  the  best  of  him,  for  then  would  come 
loose  babblings  and  talk  that  would  be  certain  to  re 
veal  the  true  purport  of  his  journey  into  the  North. 

He  was  muttering  hoarsely  to  himself  with 
clenched  fingers  and  nails  that  bit  savagely  into  his 
palms  when  Kerry  Mallabee  bent  over  him,  holding 
out  some  liquid  in  a  medicine  spoon. 

"  No !  No !  I  won't  give  in,  I  say ;  I  won't, 
don't  you  hear  ?  I  won't !  "  he  mumbled  childishly, 
in  a  feeble  attempt  to  stiffen  his  own  courage  in  the 
fight  against  the  fever  and  delirium. 

"  But  this  is  something  that  will  help  you,"  she 
said  tenderly,  thinking  his  angry  protest  was  ad- 


92       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

dressed  to  her.  "  Drink  it  quick  like  a  good  boy," 
she  added,  with  an  encouraging  smile,  as  she  at 
tempted  to  force  the  spoon  between  his  clenched 
teeth. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  Jensen  caught  himself 
together,  opened  his  lips,  and  swallowed  the  draught. 

"That's  fine!"  said  Kerry  Mallabee.  "Now 
swallow  this."  She  poked  an  oblong  gelatine  cap 
sule  of  quinine  into  his  mouth. 

It  was  an  heroic  dose  of  strychnine  that  Kerry 
Mallabee  had  administered  to  her  patient;  but  it 
brought  strength  and  courage  to  fight  the  fever  and 
the  delirium.  He  looked  up  into  her  sad  eyes  with 
a  grateful  thanks  as  he  felt  the  drug  bite  into  his 
muscles,  almost  instantly  speeding  up  the  action  of 
his  lagging  heart  with  strong  bounds.  He  felt  so 
much  better,  he  attempted  to  arise. 

"No,  no,"  chided  Miss  Mallabee,  "you  mustn't 
try  to  get  up ;  lay  back  on  the  komatic  and  try  to  be 
comfortable;  save  all  your  strength  for  the  journey 
that  is  ahead  of  us.  Now  that  the  cabin  is  burned, 
we  must  try  to  beat  out  the  storm  on  the  back  trail 
to  where  you  may  be  cared  for.  Can  you  stand  a 
ninety-mile  sledge  journey  ? "  she  asked,  as  she 
placed  one  soft  hand  on  his  burning  brow. 

It  was  a  wonderfully  cool  and  comforting  hand 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  93 

that  smoothed  back  Jensen's  hair;  and  the  brown 
eyes  that  looked  questioningly  down  into  his  would 
not  have  been  without  their  appeal  to  a  man  in  all 
his  strength.  On  Jensen,  beset  with  pain  and  the 
nameless  horror  of  delirium  that  seemed  only  wait 
ing  an  instant  of  relaxation  to  rush  in  and  overcome 
him,  the  effect  was  to  almost  bring  the  tears  welling 
to  his  eyes.  One  moment  more  of  her  pitying  com 
fort,  and  Alan  Jensen  might  have  forgotten  his  loy 
alty  to  Chief  Hilkie  and  told  Kerry  Mallabee  that, 
even  though  she  were  the  ringleader  in  this  colossal 
counterfeiting  plot  that  was  puzzling  the  United 
States  Treasury  department,  he  was  with  her,  heart 
and  soul,  to  the  end. 

It  may  be  that  Kerry  Mallabee  caught  some  hint 
of  his  state  of  mind  in  the  sick  man's  look  and  did 
not  wish  to  press  her  advantage,  for  she  suddenly 
stood  up  with  a  curious  little  gesture  of  impatience 
and  shouted  a  call  to  Peter  Saint,  who  had  been  at 
tempting  to  build  a  temporary  shelter  from  material 
saved  from  the  fire. 

"  Load  the  komatics,  Peter,"  she  cried.  "  We'll 
make  the  back  trail  for  Camp  Argyle.  Put  the  best 
part  of  the  duffle  on  my  sledge ;  load  yours  light  and 
make  a  soft  bed  for  this  sick  man." 

"  But  Camp  Argyle !  eet  ees  ninety,  yes,  almost 


94       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

wan  hon'red  mile,  an'  theese  bliz  she  blow  like,  wall, 
like  the  very  hell,  Meese,"  protested  the  habitan. 
"  We  can  res'  here  until  the  wind  she  go  down.  See, 
Sin  Petair  have  almos'  feenish  wan  vairy  comfor'able 
shelter."  He  pointed  to  the  tarpaulin  lean-to  on 
which  he  had  been  working. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  Kerry  Mallabee.  "  Pack 
your  duffle  as  quickly  as  you  can ;  it  will  be  daylight 
by  the  time  you  are  ready.  This  man  must  be  taken 
where  he  can  be  properly  cared  for,  and  Camp  Argyle 
is  the  best  and  only  place  for  that." 

"  But,  Meese,  there  is  the  M'sieu ;  wot  weel  he 
say  ?  There  is  the  danger,  Meese,  of  — " 

Swiftly  and  lightly  Kerry  Mallabee's  fingers 
touched  the  blind  habitan's  lips,  as  she  shot  a  fright 
ened  glance  Jensen's  way  and  whispered : 

"  Hush !  We  can't  be  sure  of  this  man.  Perhaps 
Tom  Springvale  did  send  him  on  the  errand  when  he 
failed,  perhaps  he  didn't;  that  matter  must  be  set 
tled  at  Camp  Argyle.  Until  then  be  careful  what 
you  say." 

"  Vairy  well,  Meese,  as  you  say ;  but,  as  for  my 
self,  I  theenk  your  father,  the  M'sieu  — " 

Again  she  stifled  the  habitan's  prattle  with  a  hush 
of  caution  and  pushed  him  on  to  making  prepara 
tions  for  the  journey,  bustling  about  herself,  and 


HATE  OF  THE  WOLF  95 

doing  a  man's  work  in  helping  to  straighten  out  the 
dogs,  tightening  thongs  that  secured  the  loads,  or 
dragging  some  needed  remnant  of  salvage  from  the 
burning  cabin. 

A  word  here  and  there  of  their  conversation  had 
been  caught  by  Jensen's  hearing,  rendered  super- 
acute  by  the  drug  he  had  taken;  yet  it  was  as  in 
explicable  to  him  as  so  much  Choctaw.  Even  had 
his  mind  not  been  beset  by  the  nightmare  of  fever, 
he  could  not  have  felt  really  certain  that  their  talk 
had  reference  to  Case  BM432.  The  only  thing  that 
made  him  believe  it  had  was  Kerry  Mallabee's  ac 
tions  with  Big  Dan's  tote  bag,  and  the  fixed  idea  he 
had  held  to  since  that  night  at  the  charcoal  burners' 
camp  that  he  was  on  the  right  track  to  a  solution  of 
the  counterfeiting  mystery. 

The  sledge  teams  of  Peter  Saint  and  Kerry  Malla- 
bee  consisted  of  six  regular  dogs  and  a  spare  dog  for 
each  sledge,  all  stout  Labrador  brutes  weighing  sev 
enty  pounds  or  more;  lighter  than  huskies,  but  ex 
ceedingly  wiry  and  able  to  do  a  greater  day's  journey 
than  the  heavier  animals.  They  were  attached  to 
birchwood  sledges  or  komatics  by  leather  traces 
buckled  to  collars  that  slipped  on  over  their  heads. 
The  trace  lines  were  kept  from  trailing  by  a  back- 
band  fastened  under  each  dog's  belly.  Peter  Saint 


96       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

did  not  harness  his  dogs  in  either  the  Esquimau 
brace  or  the  Labrador  pack  fashion;  but  ran  them 
tandem,  as  do  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  thus, 
with  an  intelligent  lead  dog,  obtaining  a  steadier 
and  more  concerted  pull,  with  less  effort  for  the 
driver. 


VIII 

THE    OLD    FOX    UNBENDS 

THE  Treasury  Department  was  prodding  Secret 
Service  Chief  Hilkie  rather  hard  these  days. 
There  were  a  few  thoroughly  frightened  men  con 
nected  with  the  department  who  wanted  to  see  de 
velopments  in  Case  BM432  without  delay,  and  they 
kept  after  the  chief  constantly.  Many  high  bank 
executives  also  found  the  situation  more  than  mildly 
disquieting. 

The  somewhat  loquacious  Atterbury,  he  who  had 
first  discovered  the  spurious  coin,  was  heard  to  say 
in  a  National  Northern  directors'  meeting  that  he 
"  would  give  an  eye  to  know  where  that  white  stuff 
came  from  and  just  how  much  of  the  bad  coin  was  in 
circulation." 

"  Why,  great  heavens,  Kenrick !  "  he  remarked  to 
another  bank  officer.  "  It  may  be  possible  that  two- 
thirds,  yes,  more,  of  the  gold  coin  in  the  United 
States  is  queer,  and  we  don't  know  it ;  can't  go  chop 
ping  up  in  every  bank  to  find  out,  either.  Can  you 


98       A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

imagine  what  such  a  condition  means?  It  would 
send  every  rapacious — " 

Atterbury  was  allowed  to  say  no  more.  Ken- 
rick's  hand  caught  him  by  the  shoulder  and  shook 
him  into  silence,  as  he  whispered  hoarsely : 

"  My  God,  Atterbury,  keep  quiet !  Get  your 
nerves  under  control,  man.  We  all  realize  what  this 
thing  means  if  it  gets  abroad  in  Germany  or  Japan ; 
but  don't  you  be  the  one  to  gabble." 

Kenrick's  features  were  the  color  of  a  shark's 
belly  from  the  many  sleepless  nights  he  had  lately 
endured,  and  his  worried  appearance  was  enough  to 
stop  the  fussy  Atterbury  from  saying  anything  fur 
ther  in  that  meeting ;  but  it  did  not  prevent  him  from 
calling  Chief  Hilkie  of  the  United  States  Secret 
Service  on  the  telephone  a  few  hours  later  and  in 
quiring  what  were  the  latest  developments  in  Case 
BM432. 

Chief  Hilkie  could  give  Atterbury  no  news  of 
late  developments  because  there  was  none.  The 
chief  was,  at  present,  concentrating  his  personal  at 
tention  on  looking  up  J.  J.  Kerrison,  the  Kerrison 
Syndicate  of  gold  mines,  and  the  details  of  the  con 
duct  of  their  business. 

The  chief's  manner  of  going  at  a  thing  was  to 
begin  at  the  top  and  work  down.  While  it  seemed 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS       99 

absurd  to  suspect  old  J.  J.  himself,  a  man  worth 
close  to  a  billion  dollars,  of  being  concerned  in  a 
counterfeiting  plan,  the  chief  was  a  person  who  never 
took  anything  on  earth  for  granted,  and  he  greatly 
desired  an  interview  with  J.  J.,  both  to  observe  the 
man  and  to  gain  his  permission  for  a  thorough  in 
vestigation  of  the  Syndicate's  business.  The  Ker- 
rison  Syndicate  was  an  enormous  concern  with  thou 
sands  of  employees.  Who  knew  what  some  of  these 
employees  might  be  up  to  ?  Not  the  chief ;  therefore 
he  was  making  it  his  business  to  find  out. 

J.  J.  Kerrison,  more  important  half  of  the  Ker- 
rison  Syndicate,  had  the  name  of  being  a  hopeless 
old  curmudgeon  and  a  man  about  as  easy  to  get  to 
as  though  his  permanent  residence  had  been  a  sub 
marine  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Chief  Hilkie  came 
slam  up  against  this  condition  immediately  he  be 
gan  to  look  up  the  Kerrisons  in  connection  with 
Case  BM432. 

It  was  because  of  his  many  residences  that  it  was 
difficult  to  gather  definite  information  regarding  the 
goings  and  comings  of  old  J.  J.  He  had  a  home 
in  Butte,  Montana;  one  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue, 
New  York ;  another  on  Derrick  Island,  off  the  coast 
of  South  Carolina  —  he  owned  the  entire  island  — 
and  still  another  in  the  center  of  an  enormous  game 

U  ITT- 


100     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

preserve  of  several  thousand  acres  in  northern  Ver 
mont.  But,  as  if  this  were  not  enough  to  satisfy 
any  ordinary  mortal,  old  J.  J.  maintained  a  palatial 
cruising  yacht,  the  Undine,  and  often  spent  several 
months  of  the  year  plowing  the  seven  seas  aboard 
of  her.  Information  as  to  where  he  was  at  any  par 
ticular  time  was  about  as  difficult  to  obtain  from  his 
subordinates  as  it  would  be  to  extract  emeralds  from 
an  oyster;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  even  his  closest  sub 
ordinates  were  rarely  aware  of  his  precise  where 
abouts  for  more  than  a  day  or  two  at  a  time. 

Regarding  Henry  T.  Kerrison,  the  remaining 
brother  of  the  Kerrison  Syndicate,  even  less  definite 
information  was  available;  he  seemed  a  most  myste 
rious  personage.  If  old  J.  J.  was  a  curmudgeon, 
Henry  T.  must  have  been  a  very  hydra-headed  mon 
ster,  according  to  common  report.  Yet,  just  at  pres 
ent,  the  Kerrison  Syndicate  was  at  war  with  the  labor 
element,  and  common  report  was  often  inspired  by 
trouble-fermenting  newspapers,  so  it  might  be  wise  to 
subtract  a  certain  percentage  from  common  report 
and,  perhaps,  allow  Henry  T.  but  one  head. 

Although  his  normal  residence  was  Philadelphia, 
Chief  Hilkie's  best  information  had  it  that  Henry 
T.  Kerrison  lived  at  the  Chateau  Frontenac  in  Que 
bec  during  the  summer,  and  in  southern  France  dur- 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     101 

ing  the  winter.  Chief  Hilkie  finally  gained  the  in 
formation  that  Henry  T.  had  been  cruising  in 
northern  waters  aboard  his  brother's  yacht,  the 
Undine,  for  six  months  past  and  was  not  expected  to 
return  for  a  year,  at  least. 

Henry  T.  was  a  widower  with  one  daughter,  a  very 
handsome  and  queenly  young  woman,  who  accom 
panied  her  father  wherever  he  went.  Since  Henry  T. 
was  off  on  a  sea  cruise,  and  since  old  J.  J.  was  popu 
larly  reported  to  be  the  dominating  head  of  the  Ker- 
rison  Syndicate,  Chief  Hilkie  set  a  generous  pack 
of  his  watch  dogs  hunting  out  the  real  lair  of  the 
old  fox  himself,  expecting  to  get  a  personal  inter 
view  as  soon  as  he  located  the  man. 

It  was  from  the  Treasury  Department  that  Chief 
Hilkie  secured  a  bit  of  important  information  about 
this  time  that  served,  to  him,  to  lend  confirmation 
to  his  idea  that  somewhere  within  the  Kerrison 
Syndicate  was  the  source  of  those  spurious  double 
eagles  that  had  caused  such  consternation  among  the 
directors  of  the  National  Northern  Bank. 

This  bit  of  important  information  was  that  the 
Kerrisons  were  in  the  habit  of  turning  the  product 
of  their  mines  in  at  the  various  mints  in  the  shape  of 
bullion ;  that  in  receipt  for  this  bullion  they  accepted 
returns  largely  in  gold  coin;  and  that  all  their  em- 


102     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

ployees  were  invariably  paid  in  gold.  The  Kerri- 
son  Syndicate  might  have  accepted  currency  or  bank 
drafts  for  their  bullion,  but  they  usually  elected  to 
take  coin.  Why?  wondered  Chief  Hilkie. 

Chief  Hilkie  made  it  a  point  to  have  several  of  his 
men  on  the  ground  immediately  after  a  Kerrison 
pay  day.  From  Kerrison's  employees  he  thus  se 
cured  a  liberal  selection  of  the  coins  used  in  paying 
them.  The  money  tested  perfect. 

The  chief  had  already  put  in  many  anxious  days 
trying  to  run  down  the  source  of  the  gold  in  the 
National  Northern  Bank,  but,  since  there  was  no 
means  of  identifying  any  particular  lot  of  coin,  and 
owing  to  the  fact  that  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
bank's  gold  coin  had  been  in  the  vaults  for  years, 
that  proved  a  barren  field.  Chief  Hilkie  did  find 
that  the  Kerrison  Syndicate  had  at  various  times 
made  deposits  of  gold  with  the  National  Northern, 
but  as  for  separating  the  Kerrison  coin  from  others, 
that,  said  Atterbury,  "  was  like  attempting  to  iden 
tify  the  initial  source  of  several  gallons  of  selected 
sea  water." 

It  was  through  merest  chance  that  Chief  Hilkie 
finally  located  J.  J.  Kerrison.  Returning  to  his 
hotel  from  an  evening  at  the  theater  in  New  York, 
the  chief  stepped  off  at  Thirty-fourth  Street  into  the 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     103 

men's  cafe  of  the  Waldorf  for  a  nightcap.  While 
partaking  of  his  refreshment,  his  attention  was  at 
tracted  by  the  actions  of  an  old  man  seated  at  one 
of  the  tables,  who  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  some  sort 
of  an  altercation  with  a  waiter. 

He  was  a  tall,  thin  old  fellow,  wearing  a  quite 
obvious  wig  and  a  silk  hat  of  a  vintage  several  years 
remote.  His  sharp  nose  set  in  an  ivory  face  shook 
with  anger,  as  he  protested  that  his  charge  for  vichy 
and  milk  should  not  include  the  cost  of  an  entire 
siphon  of  vichy,  since  he  had  actually  partaken  of 
but  a  scant  fifth  of  its  contents. 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  I'll  not  be  robbed,"  the  old  man  de 
clared  in  a  protesting  treble.  "  No  doubt  you  have 
served  that  same  siphon  to  several  patrons  before 
you  brought  it  to  me,  and  charged  them  all  full 
price.  I'll  not  pay  it.  Make  my  charge  check  out 
properly,  or  I'll  not  sign  it." 

The  old  man's  clothing  was  not  shabby ;  yet  neither 
was  it  strikingly  new  or  expensive.  The  chief 
noticed  a  grin  on  the  face  of  Bob  Adams,  the  bar 
clerk,  who  had  just  served  him  his  drink. 

"  Looks  a  little  like  John  D ;  who  is  the  tightwad  ?  " 
inquired  the  chief  good-naturedly. 

"  You  wouldn't  think  it ;  but  he's  even  richer  than 
John  D.,"  said  Bob  Adams,  a  fat,  rosy-cheeked  chap, 


104     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

very  popular  with  the  hotel  patrons.  "  That's  old 
J.  J.  Kerrison,  the  gold  king,  worth  near  enough  to 
a  billion  for  all  general  purposes." 

The  chief  dropped  his  glass  to  the  mahogany  bar 
with  a  bang  and  was  instantly  all  alert  attention. 

"  Stopping  here  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  grinned  Bob,  who  knew  the  chief  well. 
"  Under  the  name  of  '  Mr.  McCann.'  Always  reg 
isters  that  way ;  afraid  some  one  might  expect  a  decent 
tip  if  he  signed  his  own  name,  I  suppose.  But  he 
never  has  fooled  a  soul  in  the  building  that  I  know 
of;  they  all  know  who  he  is." 

"  What  room  ?  "  asked  the  chief. 

"  Suite  C.  on  the  second  floor,"  answered  Bob. 

Chief  Hilkie  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket  and 
stepped  across  to  where  old  J.  J.  sat  alone  at  a  table 
sucking  his  milk  and  vichy  through  a  straw  and  mum 
bling  querulously  to  himself. 

Chief  Hilkie  laid  his  card  on  the  table  where  it 
could  not  escape  the  old  man's  eye  as  he  asked  politely : 

"  May  I  have  a  few  moments'  talk  with  you,  Mr. 
Kerrison  ?  " 

The  loose  lower  skin  of  his  face  drew  into  taut 
wrinkles  as  old  J.  J.  looked  up  from  beneath  his 
hairless,  overhanging  brows  with  watery  eyes. 

"  Well,  well,  what  is  it  ?     What  do  you  want,  Mr. 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     105 

Kiltie  —  er,  Hilter,  I  would  say  Hilkie  ? "  stam 
mered  J.  J.,  peering  at  the  card  with  half-shut  eyes 
and  fumbling  in  his  vest  for  his  glasses.  "  I  don't 
suppose  I  can  prevent  you  from  talking  to  me,  if 
you  are  disposed  to  do  so,  and  these  hotel  servants 
all  appear  to  be  without  an  ounce  of  competence  in 
either  serving  guests  or  protecting  them  from  annoy 
ance.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Hilkie;  don't  stand  there 
like  a  tailor's  dummy.  Sit  .^own,  man,  sit  down,  I 
say."  His  voice  arose  to  a  whining  bark. 

The  old  man's  querulous  garrulity  had  given  Chief 
Hilkie  the  very  opportunity  he  desired  to  study  his 
man  before  engaging  him  in  conversation.  He  took 
a  seat  at  the  narrow  table,  beckoned  to  a  passing 
waiter,  and  ordered  a  glass  of  milk  and  vichy. 

"  Here,  waiter,"  cackled  J.  J.,  as  the  servant  was 
turning  away  after  taking  Chief  Hilkie's  order. 
"  You  needn't  bring  another  siphon  for  this  gentle 
man.  He  may  just  as  well  be  served  from  mine.  I 
daresay  he'll  be  willing  to  pay  for  half  of  it." 

Chief  Hilkie  smiled  inwardly  behind  his  pince- 
nez;  outwardly  he  was  all  suave  politeness.  He 
thought  he  knew  just  how  to  take  this  old  man  with 
his  soured  disposition. 

"  Quite  right,  waiter,"  he  said.  "  This  siphon  will 
do  nicely  for  both  of  us.  And  put  a  dash  of  brandy 


106     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

in  my  milk;  it  is  an  excellent  thing  to  make  one 
sleep  soundly." 

"  Is  it,  indeed  ? "  said  J.  J.,  leaning  forward,  all 
interest  at  once.  "  I  must  try  a  little.  You  may 
bring  me  a  glass  of  milk  with  a  dash  of  brandy  in 
it,  too,  waiter." 

Somewhere  within  that  voluminous  storehouse  of 
useful  ideas  the  chief  carried  about  beneath  his  hat 
was  filed  away  the  bit  of  information  that  J.  J.  Ker- 
rison  was  a  crank  on  health  fads  and  that  he  suffered 
severely  from  insomnia.  The  chief  had  made  a 
bull's-eye  with  his  first  shot. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Hilkie,  or  shall  I  call  you  Chief  Hil- 
kie  ?  I  see  you  are  connected  with  the  United  States 
Secret  Service  and  I  suppose  you  are  Chief  Hilkie  ? 
What  is  it  you  wish  to  talk  to  me  about  ?  "  Old  J. 
J.  looked  out  craftily  from  beneath  his  wrinkled  eye 
lids. 

"  Chief  Hilkie  is  correct.  I  desire  to  obtain  your 
permission  for  several  of  my  men  to  become  tem 
porary  employees  of  the  Kerrison  Syndicate  and  to 
have  them  observe  the  various  processes  your  gold 
goes  through  in  its  progress  from  the  mine  to  the 
mint." 

Had  Chief  Hilkie  asked  the  head  of  the  Kerrison 
Syndicate  for  half  of  his  fortune  the  old  man  could 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     107 

scarcely  have  appeared  more  astonished.  For  an  in 
stant  the  chief  thought  Kerrison  was  about  to  have 
an  apoplectic  fit.  His  hands  quivered,  his  face  be 
came  suffused  with  blood,  and  he  coughed  and  sput 
tered  over  his  drink  as  if  he  were  about  to  choke. 
The  chief  was  stepping  around  the  table  to  assist  him 
when  J.  J.  found  his  voice  and  spoke. 

"  I'll  not  permit  it,"  he  protested,  his  long  nose 
shaking  with  anger.  "  I'll  have  the  first  man  shot 
who  attempts  to  meddle  in  my  business.  The  govern 
ment  has  no  use  for  me,  nor  have  I  for  them.  I'll 
extend  no  favors."  Then,  as  he  noted  the  surprise 
in  Chief  Hilkie's  eyes,  the  old  man  caught  himself  to 
gether.  His  thin  lips  split  into  an  apologetic  smile, 
and  he  began  to  rub  his  dry  hands  together  as  he  said : 
"  There,  there,  you  must  pardon  an  old  man.  I 
have  been  so  continually  harried  by  newspaper  men 
and  government  investigators  that  my  feelings  are 
not  always  under  complete  control." 

"  I  can  appreciate  your  feelings  fully,"  said  the 
chief  suavely.  "  I  often  find  in  my  own  cases  that 
there  seems  to  be  no  limit  to  which  the  newspapers 
will  not  go  in  their  quest  for  news." 

The  chief  might  have  added  that  one  of  Kerrison's 
Montana  papers  had  been  a  capital  offender  in  this 
regard ;  but  he  refrained. 


108     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Kerrison  had  been  covertly  studying  Hilkie  ever 
since  the  chief  had  taken  his  seat  opposite.  The 
chief's  face  was  about  as  smooth  and  impassive  as  a 
marble  sphere;  yet  there  were  few  men  who  could 
fool  this  wily  old  money  grubber  for  many  moments 
at  a  time.  To  rake  in  a  billion  dollars  all  by  yourself 
requires,  above  all  things,  an  acute  understanding  of 
the  workings  of  the  human  brain.  Chief  Hilkie  was 
clever,  his  record  proves  that,  but  it  may  be  doubted 
if  he  were  in  every  way  a  mental  match  for  J.  J.  Ker 
rison,  even  when  the  old  man  was  in  his  dotage. 

"  You  say  you  wish  an  opportunity  for  several  of 
your  men  to  observe  the  mechanical  details  of  my 
mining  business/'  said  Kerrison,  and  the  polite  suav 
ity  of  his  tones  now  matched  those  of  the  Secret 
Service  chief.  "  May  I  inquire  what  is  the  object 
of  this  strange  request  ?  " 

"  You  may,"  answered  the  chief,  and  a  close  ob 
server  might  have  noted  that  the  fingers  of  both  his 
hands  clamped  firmly  upon  the  table  edge,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  trying  to  bore'  into  the  very  secret  soul 
of  the  man  seated  opposite,  as  he  continued  in  a  con 
fidential,  matter-of-fact  tone :  "I  shall  have  to  let 
you  into  what  has  heretofore  been  a  closely  guarded 
government  secret.  We  have  lately  discovered  in  cir 
culation  a  number  of  extremelv  clever  counterfeit 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     109 

gold  coins.  So  far,  the  source  of  this  bad  money  has 
not  been  discovered;  to  be  quite  frank,  we  have  not 
even  a  well-founded  suspicion  of  where  it  came  from. 
The  usual  course  in  such  matters  is  to  first  look  up 
every  known  '  maker  of  the  queer,'  as  we  term  them. 
That  has  been  done  in  this  case,  and  we  are  satisfied 
that  no  former  maker  of  counterfeit  is  behind  it. 
Now  we  are  attempting  to  trace  the  coin  itself  and 
to  search  out  the  source  of  the  materials  from  which 
it  is  made." 

"  I  see,  I  see ;  very  interesting,"  said  Kerrison  be 
tween  barking  coughs.  "  And  I  presume  you  think 
it  possible  that  some  of  my  employees  are  concerned 
in  the  affair  ?  " 

"  That  was  one  of  the  phases  of  the  case  we  thought 
worth  investigating,"  answered  the  chief. 

"  Under  those  circumstances,  then,  I  see  no  cause 
for  refusing  your  very  reasonable  request,"  said  Ker 
rison,  pushing  aside  his  empty  glass  and  laying  one 
blue-veined  hand  patronizingly  on  the  chief's  arm. 
"  I  will  see  that  you  are  afforded  every  facility  for 
carrying  out  your  plan.  You  may  be  certain,"  he 
added,  with  an  ingratiating  smile  playing  about  his 
thin  lips,  "  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  offer  every  possible 
aid  to  the  government  when  it  is  engaged  in  running 
down  so  nefarious  a  thing  as  counterfeiting  legal 


110    A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

tender,  no  matter  what  my  personal  feelings  may  be. 
Call  and  see  me  at  my  hotel  at  nine  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  Chief  Hilkie.  I  will  then  give  you  a  letter  to 
my  general  superintendent;  this  letter  will  open  to 
you  every  avenue  of  investigation  you  may  desire. 
I  should  be  delighted  to  attend  to  the  matter  at  once, 
but,  unfortunately,  Mr.  Ward,  my  secretary,  whose 
mother  is  ill,  is  spending  the  night  with  her  up  at 
One  Hundred  and  Fortieth  Street.  I  suppose  to 
morrow  morning  will  do  quite  as  well,  will  it  not, 
Chief  ? "  Kerrison's  tones  were  as  polite  and  oily 
as  though  he  were  a  courtier  addressing  a  king. 

"  Oh,  quite,"  answered  the  chief,  who  knew  just 
about  how  much  use  it  would  be  to  insist  on  immediate 
action  with  this  autocratic  old  man. 

"  Very  well,  then ;  we  will  say  nine  to-morrow 
morning.  And  now  I  must  bid  you  good  night,  it  is 
much  past  my  hour  for  retiring,"  said  J.  J.,  arising 
and  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  am,  of  course,  as  I 
said  before,  very  glad  to  be  of  what  small  assistance 
to  you  I  may  in  this  matter  and  trust  you  have  al 
ready  pardoned  my  earlier  petulance." 

The  chief  had  spoken  his  polite  good  night  wishes 
and  turned  to  walk  away,  when  Kerrison  beckoned 
him  back. 

"  By  the  way,  Chief,  may  I  inquire  how  extensive 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     111 

this  counterfeiting  plan  you  have  unearthed  is  ?  "  He 
drew  one  bent  forefinger  down  the  side  of  his  nose 
and  eyed  the  chief  intently. 

"  I  believe  it  is  quite  extensive,"  answered  Hilkie. 
"  Just  exactly  how  much  bad  money  has  been  dis 
covered  the  Treasury  Department  has  not  informed 
me ;  but  I  believe  there  is  supposed  to  be  considerable 
of  it  in  circulation." 

"  Um-m,  a  most  deplorable  condition  of  affairs,  I 
am  sure,"  murmured  Kerrison,  as  he  walked  toward 
a  door  that  led  into  the  main  corridor  of  the  hotel. 
His  great  shoulders  were  a  trifle  stooped,  and  he 
tapped  the  marble  floor  impatiently  with  his  cane  as 
he  walked. 

"  The  old  man  seems  to  be  much  broken,"  said 
Chief  Hilkie  to  Bob  Adams  as  he  gazed  after  the  tall 
form  of  the  retreating  Kerrison. 

Had  the  chief  been  permitted  to  observe  J.  J.  Ker 
rison  after  he  had  reached  his  suite  on  the  second  floor 
he  might  have  changed  his  mind  about  that  indi 
vidual's  being  much  broken  down  in  health. 

Kerrison  had  no  sooner  gained  the  seclusion  of  his 
own  suite  than  he  began  to  summon  servants  and  to 
bustle  about  as  though  he  were  in  the  midst  of  a  busy 
market  day,  instead  of  being  quartered  in  the  Wal 
dorf-Astoria  hotel  at  a  little  after  midnight. 


112     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Before  the  little  gold  clock  on  his  mantel  had 
chimed  the  half  hour  after  one  Kerrison  had  dis 
patched  no  less  than  five  cablegrams,  had  sent  a 
dozen  telegraphic  messages  and  had  engaged  in  ex 
tended  conversation  with  at  least  four  men  on  the 
long  distance  telephone. 

Most  of  these  messages  were  in  cipher;  but  two, 
at  least,  as  the  night  switchboard  operator  informed 
Chief  Hilkie  the  next  morning,  were  inquiries  to 
influential  bank  officials  regarding  the  extent  and 
importance  of  the  recently  discovered  counterfeiting 
of  gold  coins,  one  being  to  Atterbury  of  the  National 
Northern. 

A  little  before  nine  o'clock  the  following  morning 
Chief  Hilkie's  motor  car  drew  up  before  the  main 
entrance  at  the  Waldorf,  the  chief  alighted,  went  in 
side  the  hotel,  handed  his  card  to  the  desk  clerk 
and  requested  that  it  be  dispatched  to  Suite  C. 

"  Suite  C  is  vacant,"  said  the  busy  clerk  with  an 
impassive  stare,  before  he  had  even  glanced  at  the 
card. 

"  What !  "  spluttered  the  amazed  chief.  "  Isn't 
Mr.  Kerrison  —  I  mean  Mr.  McCann  stopping 
here?" 

"  Mr.  McCann  left  before  breakfast  this  morn- 
ing." 


THE  OLD  FOX  UNBENDS     113 

The  chief  swore  earnestly  beneath  his  breath. 
"  Where  has  he  gone?  Did  he  leave  no  message  for 
me,  for  Chief  Hilkie  ?  "  he  asked  hurriedly. 

The  clerk  glanced  down  at  the  card  and  was  in 
stantly  all  affability.  "  Oh !  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Chief,  I  didn't  notice  who  it  was,"  he  apologized,  as 
he  leaned  across  the  counter  confidentially.  "  We 
have  no  idea  where  Mr.  Kerrison  has  gone ;  he  never 
leaves  any  forwarding  address.  Perhaps  the  hack 
stand  man  might  help  you,  Mr.  Kerrison  usually 
takes  a  public  carriage;  or  maybe  the  house  detec 
tive.  If  there  were  any  forwarding  marks  on  his 
baggage,  the  head  porter  would  be  likely  to  know 
about  it." 

Both  house  detective,  head  porter  and  cab-stand 
man  proved  barren  of  information,  as  Chief  Hilkie 
soon  discovered.  The  only  information  he  was  able 
to  gather  was  from  the  night  girl  on  the  telephone 
switchboard,  and  that  was  of  small  account. 

"  The  old  fox !  "  said  the  chief,  as  he  re-entered 
his  motor-car  to  depart.  "  Pooled  me  as  easy  as  he 
could  a  ten-year-old  boy.  Now  I'll  get  to  him  if  it 
takes  a  leg." 

At  four-thirty  in  the  afternoon  on  that  same  day, 
Atterbury  of  the  National  Northern  again  attempted 
to  call  up  Chief  Hilkie  on  the  telephone  and  ascer- 


114     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

tain  what  was  new  in  Case  BM432.  Chief  Hilkie 
was  not  to  be  found;  he  had,  apparently,  left  the 
city,  going  no  one  knew  where.  The  department 
seemed  much  worried  over  his  unaccountable  and  un- 
explainable  absence.  Despite  the  fact  that  Atter- 
bury  made  it  a  point  to  call  them  up  on  the  day 
following,  and  on  the  day  following  that,  he  gained 
no  information.  The  chief  was  still  among  the 
strangely  missing. 


ON   DEAD   MANS   TBAIL 

AS  Peter  Saint,  Miss  Mallabee,  and  Alan  Jen 
sen  left  the  burning  Little  Babos  cabin  and 
started  on  the  trail  toward  Camp  Argyle,  there  be 
gan  for  Jensen  a  heart-breaking  journey  of  nearly 
one  hundred  miles  that  will  long  linger  in  his 
memory.  In  order  to  keep  his  weak  form  secure 
on  the  sledge,  it  had  been  necessary  to  bind  him  there 
with  cords.  Carefully  as  this  had  been  done,  the 
cords  cut  cruelly  into  his  flesh  at  every  jolt  of  the 
sledge  runners.  And  the  storm  beat  pitilessly  into 
his  face,  like  a  rain  of  sharp  sand,  for  they  were 
now  traveling  into  the  very  teeth  of  the  wind. 

The  intense  cold  he  neither  considered  nor  felt; 
thus  his  body  temperature  of  105°  was  not  without 
some  small  benefit.  And  continually  he  was  trying 
to  fight  back  the  delirium;  trying  by  sheer  force  of 
will  to  hold  his  mind  to  sane  things  and  to  study 
his  case.  At  times  he  found  himself  mentally  re 
peating  the  same  aimless  sentence  over  and  over 
again  with  futile  persistence;  then  he  would  bite 


116     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

down  hard  with  his  jaws,  clench  his  fingers,  and 
fairly  beat  his  own  brain  into  some  straight  path 
of  thinking  that  was  rational  and  got  him  some 
where. 

As  the  sullen  dawn  broke  and  a  gray,  ghastly  light 
lit  up  the  scene,  he  could  see  the  wavering  line  of 
dogs  stretched  out  ahead,  their  gaunt  brown  bodies, 
from  which  the  steam  continually  radiated,  rising, 
falling,  swaying  from  right  to  left  with  the  madden 
ing  regularity  of  a  senseless  machine.  He  longed  to 
get  out  and  stop  that  ceaseless  motion ;  to  start  them 
fighting  among  themselves, —  anything  to  break  up 
that  regular  beat  of  motion  as  they  raced  on. 

Occasionally  the  mist-shrouded  figure  of  Peter 
Saint  would  fall  into  his  line  of  vision,  the  habitan 
plying  his  whip  over  the  beasts  with  merciless  vigor 
when  the  pace  became  too  slow  to  satisfy  his  own  idea 
of  progress. 

At  Peter  Saint's  lusty  cry  of,  "  Marechon ! 
Marechon!  Wot  you  theenk,  theese  ees  some 
parade,  eh,  what,  my  lambs?  Marechon,  you  imps 
of  snails !  "  the  dogs  would  race  madly  forward  for 
a  few  paces.  Then  they  would  settle  back  into  a 
steady,  weaving  trot  as  they  beat  their  way  into  the 
storm,  each  with  a  single  windward  eye  closed,  the 
open  one  watching  his  neighbor  ahead  and  the  faint 


ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL      117 

signs  of  trail,  often  invisible  to  man,  yet  unmistak 
able  to  these  intelligent  beasts. 

At  times  they  stopped  for  a  rest,  the  sledges  were 
turned  back  to  the  gale,  and  Miss  Mallabee  came  up 
to  where  Jensen  lay  fighting  his  silent  battle  against 
the  fever.  She  would  slip  her  warm  hand  into  his 
fur  mitten,  find  the  pulse  in  his  wrist  and,  if  the 
need  seemed  to  call  for  it,  make  him  swallow  more 
of  the  bitter  strychnine  and  another  quinine  capsule. 
Since  she  realized  the  seriousness  of  his  illness,  she 
had  dropped  the  notion  of  referring  to  him  as  "  this 
man  who  calls  himself  Kerrison,"  and  now  called 
him  simply,  "  Boy."  These  slight  rests  and  her 
presence  by  his  side  had  come  to  be  like  oases  in 
Jensen's  nightmare  journey. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Boy  ?  "  she  would  repeat 
softly  as  she  counted  his  throbbing  pulse-beat  and 
searched  his  face  with  her  sad  eyes. 

"  Better,"  he  would  always  answer,  no  matter 
how  he  might  actually  be  feeling,  and  perhaps  add : 
"  And  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  being  so  kind 
to  me.  I  really  don't  believe  I  deserve  it." 

"  I'm  not  worrying  about  whether  you  deserve  it  or 
not;  it  is  enough  to  know  you  need  it,"  she  would 
answer.  Then,  perhaps  catching  his  look  of  warm 
gratitude,  she  might  add :  "  I  should  probably  have 


118     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

done  as  much  for  Big  Dan  the  Swede,  were  he  as 
helpless  as  you  are." 

At  this  Jensen's  spirits  would  suddenly  droop  most 
unaccountably,  as  he  thought,  and  he  would  again 
begin  to  puzzle  his  brain  over  the  inexplicable  con 
duct  of  this  handsome  young  woman,  who  possessed 
the  rare  ability  to  come  very  close  to  him,  yet  still 
preserve  a  sense  of  aloofness  and  the  mystery  of 
her  womanly  reserve. 

When  night  came,  they  halted,  and  the  habitan 
managed  to  throw  together  a  rough,  lean-to  tarpaulin 
shelter.  Then  he  built  a  fire  and  made  coffee.  Jen 
sen's  sledge  bed  was  drawn  close  to  the  blaze,  and 
Peter  Saint  brought  him  a  tin  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
handful  of  biscuits.  He  drank  the  coffee,  but  the 
biscuits  he  could  not  force  himself  to  swallow,  even 
when  the  habitan  soaked  them  in  the  hot,  sweet 
drink  and  urged  him  for  the  sake  of  the  added  warmth 
the  food  would  bring  to  his  body. 

Miss  Mallabee  munched  her  biscuits,  drank  her 
coffee,  and  then  fell  asleep  as  she  sat  leaning  against 
a  shelter  pole,  so  fatiguing  had  been  the  day's  jour 
ney  and  so  wakeful  her  previous  night  at  the  Little 
Babos  camp.  The  habitan  drew  a  heavy  fur  robe 
about  her  form,  placed  a  "  piece  "  against  her  back, 
then  lit  his  pipe  and  began  to  thaw  out  his  frozen 


ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL       119 

mittens  and  pacs,  as  he  squatted  before  the  fire  with 
Babe  close  beside  him. 

Babe  had  not  been  harnessed  in  with  the  other 
dogs  during  the  day.  Instead,  she  wore  a  special 
harness  of  her  own,  to  which  was  fastened  a  string 
of  tough  caribou  babiche,  which  the  habitan  had 
kept  wound  about  his  wrist  as  they  traveled,  Babe 
guiding  her  blind  master  on  his  way.  It  was  she, 
in  fact,  who  had  done  the  most  toward  keeping  them 
all  on  the  trail,  although  the  lead  dogs  on  both  Peter 
Saint's  and  Kerry  Mallabee's  sledge  appeared  to 
know  quite  well  where  they  were  expected  to  go  and 
to  have  traveled  this  journey  many  times  before. 

A  portion  of  the  long  fur  about  Babe's  neck  had 
been  badly  burned  away  in  her  dash  into  the  Little 
Babos  cabin,  and  now  she  preferred  to  remain  well 
sheltered  from  the  wind  and  very  close  to  the  com 
forting  fire.  The  remaining  dogs,  their  stomachs 
distended  with  a  meal  of  pemmican,  lay  curled  up 
in  the  snow,  their  backs  to  the  wind,  appearing  to 
sleep  as  soundly  and  comfortably  as  though  the 
thermometer  were  in  the  forties  instead  of  hovering 
around  the  zero  mark.  No  great  amount  of  snow 
had  fallen,  despite  the  twenty-four  hours'  storm, 
which  had  been  mostly  blinding  sleet  and  bitter  wind. 

Jensen's  temperature  had  gone  down  with  the  fall 


120     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

of  night,  and  he  really  felt  somewhat  improved. 
It  is  very  likely  that  no  more  suitable  condition  to 
combat  his  fever  could  have  been  found  than  in  this 
wealth  of  crisply  cold  air  that  had  been  constantly 
pumped  in  and  out  of  his  lungs  all  day;  that,  to 
gether  with  the  heart-stimulating  strychnine,  had 
already  done  much  to  purify  his  blood  of  the  poison 
that  pervaded  it  and  to  fortify  his  white  corpuscles 
in  their  battle  against  the  treacherous  invading  germs 
of  septicemia. 

As  he  saw  Miss  Mallabee's  head  fall  forward  on 
her  knees  and  knew  that  she  was  deep  in  the  sleep 
of  utter  exhaustion,  Jensen  attempted  to  open  con 
versation  with  the  blind  habitan  busying  himself 
about  the  fire. 

"  Funny  thing  I  never  met  anybody  actually  on 
the  trail  coming  up  to  your  camp,"  he  finally  said 
musingly,  after  a  few  words  of  commonplace  with 
the  habitan.  "  And  those  few  people  I  did  meet  in 
the  vicinity  seemed  to  fight  as  shy  of  me  as  though 
I  were  the  devil  himself." 

Peter  Saint  broke  into  a  dry  chuckle  and  began 
to  nod  his  satyr-like  head. 

"  Sure,  sure,  sure,"  he  answered.  "  Dere  eese 
no  mans  walk  mooch  on  Sin  Petair's  trail.  You 
know  for  why  ?  "  he  asked.  Then,  as  Jensen  shook 


ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL       121 

his  head  in  denial,  he  continued :  "  Wall,  deese  ees 
call  l  Dead  Man's  Trail/  an'  only  devils  walk  eet. 
Ever'body  in  deese  country  dey  say  '  Sin  Petair  and 
hees  Baby  ees  two  devil,  else  why  dey  walk  about 
widhout  eyes,  eh,  what  ? ' 

"  But  why  '  Dead  Man's  Trail '  ?  "  asked  Jensen. 

"  Wall,"  answered  the  habitan  slowly,  as  he  rolled 
the  water-hardened  leather  of  a  mitten  between  his 
palms  to  soften  it,  l  Dere  eese  some  pipple  say  dat 
deese  trail  eese  always  travel  mooch  at  night  by 
many  men,  and  dat  deese  men  is  all  what  you  call 
gho's,  dead  men.  Dere  ees  Antoine  Laboucheaire, 
he  eese  wan  fin'  beeg  trapper  in  deese  country; 
Antoine  he  say  wan  tarn  back,  a  beeg  moonlight 
night,  he  see  twendy,  thirdy,  fourdy,  mabbe  more, 
mens,  all  w'ite,  lak  snow,  wid  big  w'ite  packs, 
race  down  deese  trail  like  mad  devils.  An' 
wot  you  theenk  ?  "  The  habitan  dropped  his  soft 
voice  to  an  awed  whisper.  "  All  deese  mans  dey 
leave  no  track  behin',  not  wan-seengle-footstep,  eh, 
what  you  theenk  ?  " 

"  That's  foolish  nonsense,"  said  Jensen.  "  Surely 
you  don't  take  stock  in  such  silly,  childish  stories  ?  " 

"  As  for  me,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  habitan. 
"  But  it  ees  keep  many  pipples  away  from  deese 
<  Dead  Man's  Trail,'  I  theenk." 


122     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Putting  two  and  two  together,  Jensen  thought  he 
knew  why  these  uncanny  stories  had  been  spread 
abroad  regarding  the  trail;  it  was  probably  to  keep 
prying  eyes  away  while  certain  mysterious  loads 
were  being  moved  over  it.  He  would  have  given 
much  to  know  just  what  these  loads  consisted  of. 
Having  found  the  habitan  so  garrulous  about  the 
matter  of  the  trail,  Jensen  thought  to  try  him  further 
on  the  same  subject. 

"  Springvale  told  me  this  was  called  '  Trail  Num 
ber  One,'  and  that  there  was  a  '  Trail  Number  Two ' 
that  I  must  keep  carefully  clear  of,"  said  Jensen. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  Trail  Number  Two ;  is 
that  haunted,  too  ?  " 

"  Trail  Numbair  Two  eese  always  to  go  south," 
answered  the  habitan.  "  Dees  Numbair  One,  Dead 
Man's  Trail,  eese  go  nord.  Beeg  Dan,  he  come  on 
Trail  Numbair  Two,  he  go  back,  eef  he  had  not  burn 
in  the  cabin,  on  Trail  Numbair  One.  Deese  two 
trail,  dey  cross  at  my  cabin.  Eet  ees  wot  dey  call 
a  station  for  — " 

How  much  more  valuable  information  Jensen 
might  have  gathered  from  Peter  Saint's  loquacious 
chatter  had  it  continued,  he  did  not  know,  for  the 
habitan  suddenly  bit  his  sentence  in  the  middle  with 
a  grunt,  and  Jensen  saw  a  slim  hand  reach  over  his 


own  shoulder  and  touch  the  man's  lips  lightly  with 
one  finger.  Miss  Mallabee  was  awake. 

"  You  had  better  lie  down  and  sleep,  Peter  Saint," 
said  Miss  Mallabee,  as  she  came  shivering  toward 
the  fire.  "  Bur-r-r !  I  am  chilled  clear  through.  I'll 
sit  up  awhile,  tend  the  fire,  and  get  thoroughly 
warmed  while  you  take  a  nap,  Peter." 

The  habitan  protested  that  he  had  no  need  for 
sleep;  but  Miss  Mallabee  insisted  and,  after  throw 
ing  more  wood  upon  the  fire,  Peter  Saint  finally 
curled  up  in  one  corner  of  the  shelter  and  was  soon 
sleeping  like  an  animal.  His  thin  body  seemed 
thoroughly  hardened  to  cold,  for  he  scorned  to  even 
take  the  usual  camper's  comfort  of  lying  with  the 
soles  of  his  feet  toward  the  fire. 

Jensen  was  not  feeling  in  the  slightest  degree 
drowsy  and,  having  had  some  success  in  questioning 
Peter  Saint,  he  had  a  keen  appetite  for  more  infor 
mation  regarding  this  strange  tangle  of  haunted 
trails,  mysterious  packages,  and  still  more  myste 
rious  people. 

That  Miss  Mallabee  could  tell  him  much  if  she  were 
so  inclined,  he  knew ;  yet  he  doubted  if  she  would  and 
hesitated  to  draw  her  out.  That  she  had  seemed  to 
feel  entirely  different  toward  him  since  realizing  the 
desperate  need  of  his  illness,  he  was  certain ;  no 


124     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

woman  could  instinctively  appropriate  and  so  softly 
speak  that  affectionate  title  of  "  Boy "  she  had 
lately  bestowed  upon  him,  unless  there  was  some 
actual  interest  in  the  man  himself  behind  it. 

And  Jensen  knew,  in  his  heart,  that  his  own  feel 
ings  toward  this  fascinating  young  woman,  whatever 
might  be  her  connection  with  the  counterfeiting  plot 
he  was  running  down,  had  passed  beyond  the  stage 
of  mere  interest.  He  had  often  read  that  it  was  a 
common  failing  of  sick  men  to  fall  hopelessly  in  love 
with  their  nurses;  he  was  now  passing  through  the 
experience. 

Lying  there,  thinking  these  things  over,  Jensen 
finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  whatever  informa 
tion  was  to  be  gathered  about  Case  BM432  on  the 
trip  to  Camp  Argyle  must  be  gained  entirely  inde 
pendent  of  Kerry  Mallabee.  He  wasn't  going  to 
make  a  tool  of  her.  That  matter  being  satisfactorily 
adjusted,  he  felt  much  relieved  mentally  and  closed 
his  eyes  to  try  and  sleep. 

Alan  Jensen  had  not  been  connected  with  the 
United  States  Secret  Service  long  enough  to  render 
him  calloused  toward  criminals  —  of  the  feminine 
persuasion,  at  least ;  neither  had  his  experience  with 
women  been  so  extensive  as  to  endow  him  with  any 
great  understanding  of  feminine  nature,  so  he  was 


ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL      125 

obliged  to  stumble  along  as  best  he  might  under  these 
handicaps.  He  had  settled  the  matter,  however,  with 
his  own  nature. 

Kerry  Mallabee  had  been  studying  Jensen's  face 
for  some  time  as  he  lay  by  the  fire,  warmly  wrapped, 
on  Peter  Saint's  sledge.  She  could  tell  by  his  ir 
regular  breathing  that  he  was  not  yet  sleeping. 
Finally  she  spoke. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Boy  ?  "  she  asked,  not  un- 
tenderly. 

Jensen  had  been  lost  in  thought,  and  the  question 
startled  him.  He  glanced  up  nervously.  She  was 
sitting  on  a  pack  beside  the  fire,  her  back  to  the  shel 
ter,  the  blaze  lighting  up  the  warm  brown  glow  of 
her  face,  and  the  wandering  strands  of  spun  gold 
hair  that  escaped  from  her  hood.  Her  chin  was  sunk 
in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and  her  elbow  rested  on  one 
knee.  Her  sad,  somber  eyes  seemed  to  Jensen  al 
most  to  have  read  his  very  thoughts. 

"  Better,"  he  answered  as  usual. 

"  But  that's  what  you've  been  telling  me  all  day," 
she  protested,  with  a  little  smile.  "  According  to  the 
number  of  times  you  have  registered  progress,  you 
should  be  about  one  hundred  per  cent,  more  than 
entirely  well  by  now." 

"  It's  real  this  time,"  he  assured  her,  with  an 


126     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

answering  smile.  "  I  believe  the  swelling  in  my 
arm  has  gone  down  some,  and  it  doesn't  pain  me 
to  any  great  extent  now.  See !  "  he  continued  im 
pulsively,  as  he  moved  his  swollen  hand  into  the  fire 
light,  with  a  painful  twist  of  his  body.  "  The  pur 
ple  blotches  have  all  disappeared  from  my  hand." 

"  It  does  have  a  more  healthy  color,"  she  said,  as 
she  bent  down  and  inspected  it.  "  And  I  think  it 
is  time  you  had  the  wound  dressed.  Bur-r-r,  it's  a 
wicked  place  here  to  do  it;  but  if  you'll  grit  your 
teeth  while  I  unroll  Peter  Saint's  surgical  dressings, 
I'll  dress  it  again." 

At  the  cost  of  considerable  effort,  for  she  was  shak 
ing  with  the  cold,  Kerry  Mallabee  managed  to  wash 
Jensen's  arm  with  the  pungent  aseptic  and  to  re 
adjust  the  bandages. 

"  Did  I  hurt  you  ? "  she  asked  anxiously,  as  she 
placed  his  swollen  arm  again  beneath  the  furs,  caus 
ing  Jensen's  face  to  turn  milky  white  with  the  pain 
that  came  from  the  necessary  motion. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  he  assured  he/,  with  a  wry  smile. 
He  would  have  endured  agony  ten  times  greater  if 
the  reward  were  but  such  nearness  of  her  presence 
as  he  had  felt  while  she  ministered  to  him. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  added,  as  he  sank  back  into  a 
position  of  comparative  comfort.  "  You  certainly 


ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL      127 

are  a  thoroughly  competent  physician;  between  your 
strychnine,  your  quinine,  and  your  surgical  dress 
ings,  I'm  beginning  to  feel  like  a  new  man." 

"  Like  somebody  else  besides  Mr.  Kerrison  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  little  moue  that  was  not  without  its 
twist  of  sarcasm. 

The  arrow  found  its  target  and  again  brought  to 
the  surface  the  persistent  idea  that  would  never  seem 
to  down  in  Jensen's  mind;  that  she  really  suspected 
the  part  he  was  playing.  Yet  her  remark  did  not  so 
far  abash  him  that  he  could  not  return  her  arrow. 

"  Not  quite  so  changed  as  that,  Miss  Mallabee," 
he  said.  "  Or  shall  I  call  you  l  Miss  Kerrison '  ? 
You  told  me  yourself  your  name  was  Kerrison,  but 
Big  Dan  called  you  '  Miss  Mallabee.' ' 

"  My  name  is  Kerrison  Mallabee,"  she  retorted 
a  bit  curtly,  as  she  tucked  the  bottle  of  aseptic  wash 
back  into  the  medicine  case.  "  My  friends  usually 
shorten  it  to  Kerry." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  misunderstood,"  said  Jensen  con 
tritely.  "  It  was  stupid  of  me." 

The  two  fell  again  into  silence  as  Kerry  Mallabee 
replenished  the  fire  and  drew  her  seat  close  in  an 
effort  to  warm  her  chilled  body.  Presently  she 
turned  again  toward  Jensen  and  asked,  with  a  little 
puzzled  frown  overshadowing  her  sad  eyes: 


128     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Tell  me  just  what  happened  in  the  cabin  before 
it  caught  fire?  I  have  wanted  to  know,  but  this  is 
the  first  opportunity  I've  had  to  ask  you.  The  last 
thing  I  remember  is  when  Big  Dan  was  choking  me 
across  his  knee,  and  I  saw  you  stagger  toward  us  and 
fall.  Peter  has  told  me  that  Big  Dan  is  dead;  did 
you  kill  him?" 

"  Babe  killed  him,"  answered  Jensen ;  then,  in 
answer  to  her  questioning  look,  he  went  on  to  de 
scribe  the  battle  between  dog  and  man  in  the  Little 
Babos  cabin,  neglecting,  however,  to  mention  his  own 
important  part  in  the  affair. 

"  But  Babe  was  securely  chained  in  her  corner ; 
did  she  break  her  chain  ?  "  insisted  Miss  Mallabee. 

"  I  think  she  must  have,  or  gotten  loose  in  some 
way,"  answered  Jensen  rather  diffidently. 

Kerry  Mallabee  had  continued  to  study  his  face 
intently.  Now  she  said  musingly,  half  to  herself, 
half  to  Jensen: 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  you,  quite.  Peter 
Saint  has  already  told  me  that  some  one  snapped  open 
the  steel  catch  on  Babe's  collar.  Surely  Big  Dan 
would  not  be  likely  to  do  that,  would  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  must  know  then,"  answered 
Jensen  boyishly,  "  I  snapped  her  chain.  I  saw  what 
a  terrible  fix  you  were  in  there  with  the  Swede,  and 


ON  DEAD  MAN'S  TRAIL      129 

I  knew  I  couldn't  aid  you  any  against  the  brute  in 
my  helpless  condition,  so  I  managed  to  crawl  to 
Babe,  turn  her  loose,  and  sic  her  on  to  fight  him.  It 
was  little,  but  it  was  the  best  I  could  do." 

"  Little  ? "  repeated  Kerry  Mallabee  ardently. 
"  It  saved  me  from  that  horrible  beast  of  a  man ; 
isn't  that  something  ? "  Then,  after  a  moment  of 
musing  silence,  she  added,  as  Jensen  made  no  reply : 
"  You  are  just  a  great  big  boy,  aren't  you  ?  I  sup 
pose  that's  why  I  call  you  '  Boy.' ' 

She  stepped  over  to  the  sledge  and  began  to  tuck 
in  the  furs  about  his  form  as  she  continued : 

"  IsTow  you  must  go  to  sleep.  We  have  a  long,  hard 
journey  before  us  to-morrow,  and  you'll  need  all  the 
strength  you  can  muster  to  make  it.  I  want  to  see 
you  wake  up  with  an  appetite  equal  to  the  biggest 
breakfast  Peter  Saint  can  cook."  Her  hand  lightly 
brushed  his  cheek  as  she  tucked  the  fur  robe  close 
about  his  neck.  "  Good  night  —  Boy  —  and  pleasant 
dreams." 

Again  Alan  Jensen  found  himself  wondering  if 
he  were  fool  or  wise  man.  That  final  gesture  of 
Kerry  Mallabee  as  she  adjusted  the  fur  coverings 
about  his  neck  might  have  been  a  mere  accident,  or 
it  might  have  been  the  simple  promptings  of  a 
motherly  heart  toward  a  sick  man;  but,  somehow,  it 


130     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

reminded  him  uncomfortably  of  the  moment  when 
she  had  unloosed  the  tote  bag  from  the  back  of  Big 
Dan  the  Sweda 

He  finally  dropped  asleep  to  fall  into  a  strangely 
distorted  dream  of  beautiful  snow  sirens  who  at 
tempted  to  lure  him  off  the  path  he  was  following 
with  sweet  music,  soft  voices,  and  caressing  gestures. 
But  in  his  dream  these  sirens  had  transparent  bodies 
and  talking  brains,  and  he  could  see  their  wicked 
hearts  beating  and  hear  their  evil  minds  concocting 
schemes  for  his  destruction,  so  he  held  firmly  to  the 
right  path  and  reached  his  destination  safe  and  sound. 
Then  he  awoke  to  find  it  was  morning,  and  that  Peter 
Saint,  bending  over  the  fire,  was  brewing  a  generous 
tin  pot  of  that  Yarguli  coffee.  The  odor  was  glo 
rious.  Jensen's  appetite  had  returned,  and  he  man 
aged  to  eat  a  liberal  breakfast. 


FIGHTING  THE    BLIZZARD 

flHlHE  storm  had  been  greatly  lessened  through 
JL  the  night;  but  with  daylight  it  began  again 
and  whirled  about  their  flimsy  tarpaulin  shelter  with 
greater  fury  than  ever.  Peter  Saint  shook  his  head 
soberly  as  he  sniffed  the  wind  and  held  up  one  naked 
hand  to  catch  the  feel  of  the  air  on  his  palm. 

"  Wall,  my  Baby,"  he  said,  "  theese  ees  one  beeg, 
hard  journey  ahead  deese  day?  She  ees  wan  bad 
day  for  make  eet.  Eh,  what  you  theenk,  my  Baby  ?  " 

Babe  barked  an  expression  of  her  determination 
to  press  on,  regardless  of  any  sort  of  weather,  and 
tugged  vigorously  at  her  leading  string  fastened  to  the 
habitan's  wrist. 

"  Yairy  well,  my  Baby,  as  you  say ;  but  I  theenk 
you  sing  wan  deeferant  song  before  sleep  tarn  to 
night,  my  leetle  sugar-plum." 

"  Don't  discourage  us,  Peter,"  said  Kerry  Mal- 
labee,  trying  to  be  cheerful.  "  A  storm  so  early  in 
the  season  as  this  can't  last  long." 

But    the    weather-wise    habitan    disagreed.     "  I 


132     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

theenk  thees  ees  wan  beeg  she-devil  of  a  bliz,"  he  de 
clared,  as  he  harnessed  the  dogs.  "  An'  she  ees  not 
old  enough  yet  to  loose  all  her  teeth;  she  steel  can 
bite." 

Jensen  was  not  feeling  as  strong  as  he  had  on  the 
previous  evening.  The  unnatural  exhilaration  en 
gendered  by  the  heroic  doses  of  strychnine  he  had 
previously  taken  had  now  evaporated  somewhat,  and 
though  the  swelling  in  his  arm  had  not  increased,  and 
the  skin  showed  a  fairly  healthy  color,  he  felt  de 
pressed  and  sensed  the  lassitude  of  the  reaction  that 
came  from  a  lessened  heart-beat. 

Kerry  Mallabee's  face  looked  drawn  and  tired  in 
the  dim  morning  light.  She  spoke  seldom  and  de 
clared  she  had  felt  cold  all  through  the  night,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  warmly  dressed  and  sat 
close  to  a  roaring  fire.  Jensen  noted  her  changed  ap 
pearance,  and  as  Peter  Saint  was  adjusting  the  wrap 
pings  on  his  sledge,  he  declared  to  the  habitan : 

"  Let  me  out  of  the  straight-jacket,  Peter.  I'm 
not  going  to  ride  here  to-day.  I'd  feel  like  a  fool 
doing  it.  I'm  well  enough  to  walk,  with  a  little  help 
ing  tug  along  on  the  sledge  runner  when  I  get  winded. 
Miss  Mallabee  is  all  beat  out  and  shall  take  my  place 
on  the  sledge." 

Kerry  Mallabee  protested  that  she  would  do  noth- 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD      133 

ing  of  the  sort.  "  You're  not  fit  to  travel  on  your 
feet,  Boy,"  she  declared.  "  God  knows  what's  before 
us  to-day  would  be  hard  enough  for  a  well  man ;  but 
for  a  man  in  your  condition  it  is  impossible." 

"  Impossible  or  not,  I  don't  ride,"  answered  Jen 
sen  stubbornly,  as  he  crawled  out  of  the  fur  cover 
ings  and  squatted  in  the  snow.  "  I'll  sit  here  until 
I  freeze,  unless  you  ride  on  that  sledge.  Why,  bless 
your  heart,  Girl,  a  little  healthy  exercise  is  the  very 
thing  I  need." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "  Are  you  delirious 
again  ?  Why,  I  don't  believe  you  can  stand." 

"  Stand !  "  he  retorted,  rising  to  his  feet  and  leap 
ing  into  the  air.  "  See  that !  "  Then  he  grinned 
boyishly  as  he  added :  "  Suffering  Csesar,  Girl, 
you've  no  idea  how  those  thongs  you  bound  me  on 
that  sledge  with  yesterday  hurt.  I  am  going  to 
fasten  you  in  to-day,  and  that's  the  main  reason  for 
my  wanting  to  walk." 

With  a  wan  smile,  for  she  really  was  about  used 
up  after  her  two  sleepless  nights  and  the  previous 
day's  hard  journey  in  the  storm,  Kerry  Mallabee 
took  Jensen's  place  on  Peter  Saint's  sledge. 

"  If  you  will  promise  to  let  me  know  the  moment 
you  feel  fatigued  ?  "  she  bargained. 

They  started  off.     The  order  of  travel  was  now  the 


134     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

reverse  to  that  followed  on  the  previous  day.  Peter 
Saint  and  Babe  took  charge  of  Kerry  Mallabee's 
komatic  and  the  dog  team,  going  on  ahead  while  she 
trailed  behind  with  his  more  seasoned  animals  that 
might  be  expected  to  follow  with  little  attention. 

At  the  habitan's  encouraging  cry  of,  "  Marechon ! 
Marechon!  you  beeg  fat  snails,"  they  raced  bravely 
forward  in  the  teeth  of  a  blinding  gale.  It  was  slow 
progress.  They  had  to  fight  for  every  foot  of  the 
way.  The  sledges  moved  easily  enough,  but  the 
storm  had  obliterated  many  of  the  signs  of  the  trail 
and  the  highly  intelligent  Babe,  who  acted  as  pilot, 
became  confused  several  times. 

Whenever  he  discovered  Babe  to  be  in  doubt  about 
the  trail,  the  habitan  would  halt  both  teams  and  pros 
pect  ahead  with  her  for  a  bit,  murmuring  soft  words 
of  endearment  and  speaking  with  her  as  if  she  were 
actually  a  sentient  being  with  a  reasoning  brain. 
Truth  to  tell,  Babe  appeared  almost  that,  and  never 
failed  to  get  her  true  bearings  soon,  whereupon  they 
would  all  start  off  again,  refreshed  by  the  slight 
rest. 

It  took  but  a  short  period  of  this  heart-breaking 
travel  against  the  biting  wind  to  convince  Jensen 
that  he  had  greatly  overestimated  his  own  strength 
when  he  imagined  he  could  keep  up  with  the  wiry 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD     135 

Peter  Saint.  Had  it  not  been  for  each  short  respite 
when  Babe  searched  for  signs  of  the  trail,  he  would 
have  had  to  give  up  early;  but  these  rests  served  to 
afford  him  breathing  spells,  and  he  took  fullest  ad 
vantage  of  them,  gritting  his  teeth  and  keeping  pluck- 
ily  on  in  spite  of  his  weakness  and  the  pain  in  his 
left  arm  that  had  now  started  up  again,  as  the  fatigue 
poisons  from  the  exercise  filled  his  blood. 

Finally  Kerry  Mallabee  made  him  change  places 
with  her  for  a  time,  and  he  had  a  longer  rest.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  they  all  halted,  and  Peter  Saint 
managed  to  warm  up  a  can  of  coffee.  It  was  drunk 
without  condensed  milk  or  sugar,  but  it  was,  at  least, 
comfortingly  hot;  it  put  new  vigor  into  their  tired 
bodies,  and  they  struck  out  again  for  Camp  Argyle. 

"  Tete  de  Loup  Cache  eese  leetle  way  on,"  ex 
plained  Peter  Saint  to  Jensen,  as  he  urged  on  the 
dogs.  "  Eet  eese  wan  fine  beeg  rock  wid  nice  warm 
south  side.  We  camp  dere  for  the  night.  Plenty 
firewood.  Marechon,  my  sugar-plums !  " 

Even  the  hard-bodied  dogs  were  beginning  to  feel 
the  wrath  of  the  storm  in  their  wiry  legs,  and  the  pace 
was  slow.  Jensen  had  again  changed  places  with 
Kerry  Mallabee,  and  she  was  having  a  needed  rest 
on  the  rear  sledge.  For  some  reason  Peter  Saint's 
dog  team  seemed  more  wearied  than  the  others,  per- 


136     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

haps  because  theirs  had  been  the  heavier  load.  Sev 
eral  times  the  habitan  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  rear 
and  ply  his  whip  vigorously  because  they  had  lagged 
too  far  behind  the  other  sledge. 

As  the  early  dusk  fell,  Babe  found  the  trail  more 
difficult,  and  Jensen's  periods  of  rest  were  consider 
ably  lengthened.  Peter  Saint  would  not  halt  and 
camp,  however,  as  he  deemed  Tete  de  Loup  Cache 
to  be  well  worth  fighting  on  for.  During  one  of 
these  rests,  Jensen  fell  into  a  momentary  doze  as  he 
sat  curled  up  on  the  forward  sledge  awaiting  the 
habitan's  return  with  Babe. 

It  was  with  a  rather  sleep-muddled  brain  that  he 
resumed  the  journey  after  this  last  respite,  and  they 
had  been  traveling  steadily  on  for  some  time  when 
he  suddenly  sensed  the  unusual  quietness  of  the  rear 
dogs.  He  looked  back  along  the  white  trail  shining 
in  the  night  where  their  tread  had  stirred  up  the 
snow. 

There  was  no  rear  sledge  in  sight !  Dogs,  komatic, 
and  Kerry  Mallabee  had  disappeared,  either  gone  off 
the  path  somewhere  or  lagged  so  far  behind  that  they 
were  lost  to  sight. 

For  an  instant  the  bleak  horror  of  the  situation 
almost  overcame  him.  Kerry  Mallabee  wandering 
in  this  barren  wilderness  where  no  man,  let  alone  a 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD     137 

woman,  could  possibly  live  for  any  length  of  time! 
His  heart  went  out  to  her  with  a  wild  longing  to 
find  her  quickly  or  to  share  her  fate.  He  ran  forward 
and  caught  Peter  Saint  by  the  arm. 

"  God  in  heaven,  man,  where's  the  other  sledge  ? " 
shouted  Jensen  to  the  habitan.  "  They  are  not  fol 
lowing.  I  can  neither  see  nor  hear  them." 

"  My  Gar !  Meese  Mallabee !  "  exclaimed  Peter 
Saint,  as  he  halted  and  held  one  cupped  hand  to  his 
acutely  sensitive  ear.  "  My  Gar !  I  don't  catch  wan 
seengle  sound  from  dem  dogs,"  he  added  in  a  whis 
per.  "  My  Gar !  My  Gar !  por  leetle  Meese !  She 
mus'  be  los'." 

"  Think  quick,  man,  what  can  we  do  ?  There's 
not  a  second  to  lose,"  shouted  Jensen,  as  he  shook 
the  dazed  habitan's  arm. 

"  There  ees  only  wan  theeng,"  declared  the  hab 
itan.  "  We  mus'  go  back  and  fin'  w'ere  dey  leave 
the  trail."  In  an  instant  he  had  turned  his  dog  team 
about  and  they  were  racing  on  the  back  track  of  the 
sledges,  a  trail  fast  becoming  indistinguishable  in  the 
falling  darkness.  But  for  the  acute  nasal  organs  and 
the  sharp  eyes  of  Babe,  they  could  scarcely  have  held 
to  it. 

Crazed  with  anxiety,  Peter  Saint  and  Jensen  al 
most  outran  the  dogs,  the  habitan  ahead,  crouched 


138     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

over  as  he  sped  on,  led  by  Babe  with  her  leading  cord 
tied  to  his  wrist. 

Suddenly  Jensen  saw  Peter  Saint  stagger  forward 
and  fall  over  some  obstacle  in  the  snow.  It  was  a 
roll  of  furs  and  one  of  Miss  Mallabee's  mittens  that 
had  been  dropped  from  the  rear  sledge,  as  her  dog 
team  had  turned  sharply  off  the  trail. 

In  an  instant  the  habitan  was  up,  only  to  stagger 
forward  and  fall  again  with  a  groan  of  pain.  Half 
dazed,  Jensen  knelt  in  the  snow  by  his  side,  as  he 
shouted  above  the  wind : 

"  What  is  it  ?     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  My  Gar,  I  theenk  my  ankle  she  mos'  broke," 
moaned  the  habitan.  "  When  I  go  for  step  she  mos' 
keel  me." 

Again  he  pluckily  tried  to  stand  up,  but  it  was  no 
use;  the  slightest  weight  on  his  ankle  made  him  cry 
out  with  pain. 

"  My  Gar,  I  guess  Sin  Petair  he  ees  done  for,"  he 
declared  sadly,  as  he  lay  back  groaning  in  the 
snow,  while  Babe  barked  and  tugged  at  her  leading 
string,  anxious  to  follow  on  where  the  rear  sledge  had 
turned. 

Suddenly  the  habitan  noted  Babe's  excitement. 
He  listened  to  her  barks  and  whimpers.  "  My  Gar !  " 
he  said.  "  I  theenk  dees  ees  right  trail  off  here,  eh, 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD      139 

what,  my  Baby  ?  Eet  was  Sin  Petair  and  hees  Baby 
wot  go  astray,  eh,  what  ?  " 

By  her  capers  and  whimpering  cries,  Babe  plainly 
seemed  to  indicate  that  the  habitan's  view  of  the  mat 
ter  was  correct.  The  wiser  animals  on  Peter  Saint's 
komatic  had  kept  to  the  correct  trail  and  gone  on  with 
Kerry  Mallabee  lying  on  the  rear  sledge. 

"  Well,  that's  so  much  to  the  good  then,"  said  Jen 
sen,  greatly  relieved.  "  We  should  soon  be  able  to 
catch  up  with  her.  Now  let's  see  what's  the  matter 
with  your  ankle." 

Decently  skilled  in  backwoods  surgery,  Jensen  soon 
had  the  habitan's  pac  and  thick  woolen  socks  removed. 
He  ran  his  sensitive  fingers  over  the  ankle.  There 
could  be  little  doubt  about  what  was  the  matter;  a 
displaced  bone  was  almost  protruding  through  the 
flesh.  Peter  Saint  would  not  be  able  to  step  on  that 
foot  for  days.  There  was  nothing  for  Jensen  to  do 
but  bind  the  injured  ankle  as  best  he  could  and  lift 
Peter  Saint  on  to  the  komatic. 

Quickly  making  the  habitan  as  comfortable  as 
possible,  Jensen  took  Babe's  leading  string,  and  the 
two  started  off,  leading  the  way  on  the  trail  taken 
by  Kerry  Mallabee  and  Peter  Saint's  dogs. 

As  a  rule  sledge  dogs  do  not  often  bark,  the  whine 
or  the  growl  is  their  common  method  of  speech,  yet 


140     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Kerry  Mallabee's  team  kept  up  a  furious  howling 
as  they  raced  along  on  their  late  companions'  track, 
appearing  aware  that  unusual  effort  was  expected  of 
them,  that  their  team  mates  were  in  distress  and 
must  be  found.  Jensen  encouraged  them  on  with 
shouts,  entirely  forgetting  his  own  illness  in  an  ex 
cited  desire  to  find  Kerry  Mallabee  and  make  certain 
that  no  harm  had  come  to  her.  The  habitan  plied  his 
long  whip  unsparingly  from  his  seat  on  the  sledge. 

Within  a  short  time  answering  howls  were  heard 
in  the  distance.  Jensen's  heart  gave  a  leap  for  sheer 
joy  and  relief.  He  broke  into  a  loud,  "  Hallo ! 
Hallo !  "  and  imagined  there  came  a  faint,  answering 
call. 

Soon  a  piled  black  shadow  could  be  seen  blurring 
the  trail  ahead.  It  was  the  other  dogs  and  the 
komatic,  bunched  together  for  warmth  and  comfort. 
But  the  sledge  was  empty.  Kerry  Mallabee  was  not 
there ! 

She  had  taken  nothing;  the  sledge  load  was  in  its 
place.  The  dogs  were  not  tangled;  they  showed  no 
indications  of  having  been  moving  undirected.  It 
was  as  if  her  team  had  merely  been  halted  by  its 
driver  for  a  rest. 

For  the  first  instant  Jensen  consoled  himself  with 
the  hope  that  Kerry  Mallabee  must  certainly  be  some- 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD      141 

where  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  He  shouted  sev 
eral  times,  thinking  to  let  her  know  of  their  arrival, 
and  that  she  would  soon  join  them.  There  came 
no  answer,  and  his  heart  sank.  He  could  no  longer 
evade  the  realization  that  she  was  lost  in  this  wilder 
ness  without  a  habitation  or  a  human  being  within 
hundreds  of  miles,  and  sheer  horror  again  overcame 
him  so  that  he  almost  crumpled  up  in  the  snow.  Then 
he  caught  himself  together.  If  Kerry  Mallabee  had 
wandered  off  the  trail,  she  must  be  found,  and  he 
was  the  only  one  able  to  do  it. 

He  explained  matters  to  the  blind  habitan,  add 
ing  :  "  I'll  follow  her  tracks  in  the  snow  and  soon 
find  her.  She  can't  have  gone  far;  she  hasn't  had 
time  to." 

Jensen  got  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  be 
gan  to  study  the  snow  about  the  back  track  of  the 
sledges.  Peter  Saint  called  to  him. 

"  Here  ees  wan  pair  of  sharper  eyes  dan  yours," 
he  said,  as  he  rubbed  Kerry  Mallabee's  fur  mitten  on 
Babe's  nose.  "  Onderstan',  my  Baby  ?  Fin'  her. 
Go!" 

He  handed  Babe's  leading  string  to  Jensen,  as  he 
added,  comfortingly :  "  Don'  worry ;  my  leetle  sugar 
plum  has  wan  fine  nose ;  she  fin'  her  queek  an'  breeng 
her  back." 


142     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Babe  raced  back  on  the  trail  with  Jensen  close 
after  her.  Presently  she  struck  off  to  the  left  where 
he  could  see  what  he  took  to  be  tracks  in  the  snow. 
Behind,  Peter  Saint  shouted  at  frequent  intervals  to 
encourage  them  and  let  them  know  where  the  sledge 
was,  though  there  was  little  danger  of  Babe's  losing 
her  way  again.  Her  animal  instinct  was  worth  a 
dozen  man-created  compasses. 

Babe  answered  her  master's  call  with  deep  barks, 
and  Jensen  kept  crying  Kerry  Mallabee's  name.  The 
dog  traveled  fast  in  her  eagerness,  indicating  that 
the  track  was  fresh,  and  Jensen  had  all  he  could  do 
to  maintain  the  pace  with  her  and  not  drag  too  much 
on  the  leading  line. 

Several  times  she  went  across  gullies  where  the 
snow  lay  deeper,  and  he  thought  his  feet  and  legs 
were  made  of  lead,  so  difficult  was  it  for  him  to  drag 
himself  up.  What  with  the  pace  and  the  shouting, 
he  was  soon  getting  winded.  Once  he  fell  prone  and 
had  to  lie  there;  for  a  moment  he  could  scarcely 
muster  strength  enough  to  get  to  his  feet  again.  An 
instant  of  rest  and  the  dogged  determination  that  he 
must  keep  on,  that  it  meant  a  human  life,  finally 
brought  him  up,  and  he  staggered  on.  The  wind 
blew  sharply  upon  his  forehead,  making  it  ache  as 
though  his  head  were  being  crushed  in  a  relentless 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD     143 

vise.  Soon  a  new  phenomenon  brought  added  weak 
ness  to  his  over-stimulated  heart,  and  his  brain  but 
recently  recovered  from  delirium;  the  air  all  about 
seemed  filled  with  recurrent  explosions  of  light.  It 
was  only  the  effect  of  the  intense  cold  on  his  strained 
eyeballs,  but  it  filled  his  mind  with  distracting  con 
fusion  and  made  it  doubly  difficult  to  forge  on. 

"  God  in  heaven,  I  can't  make  it !  "  he  muttered 
weakly  to  himself,  as  he  fell  helplessly  in  the  snow 
for  the  fourth  time.  His  whole  body  and  brain  had 
relaxed  into  the  lethargy  of  utter  exhaustion  when  he 
heard  a  half-muted  cry  borne  down  the  wind. 

He  threw  up  his  head  and  listened.  Was  it  animal 
or  human?  He  could  not  tell.  He  drew  Babe  to 
him,  choked  back  her  barks,  and  putting  every  ounce 
of  strength  and  all  his  anxiety  behind  his  voice,  he 
shouted : 

"  Girl !     Is  that  you  ?     For  God's  sake,  answer !  " 

He  listened.  Very  faint,  through  the  wild  whirl 
of  sleet,  he  thought  he  heard  a  voice,  little  more  than 
a  whisper,  yet  a  sound  that  throbbed  through  his 
brain  and  galvanized  his  exhausted  body  into  action 
as  no  stimulating  drug  could  have  done. 

"  B-o-oy !  Here  I  am,  Boy !  "  it  seemed  to  call, 
and  he  was  on  his  feet  again  in  an  instant,  crying  en 
couragement  to  Babe,  whose  sharper  ears  had  prob- 


144     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

ably  sensed  the  meaning  of  that  sound  even  better 
than  had  his  own. 

Stumbling  like  a  drunken  man,  seeing  nothing  be 
fore  him,  yet  blindly  fighting  on  with  that  faint  cry 
still  beating  in  his  ears,  Jensen  went  forward,  he 
knew  not  where,  knowing  only  that  the  keen  dog's 
brain  of  Babe  would  lead  him  to  her  whom  he  sought 
and  whom  his  heart  hungered  for. 

A  few  moments  later  he  could  make  out  a  dim  form 
struggling  toward  him;  then  Kerry  Mallabee  fell  on 
his  shoulder  sobbing  hysterically. 

"  Boy !  Boy !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  thought  you 
were  lost,  and  I  went  out  to  find  you !  " 

His  heart  singing  with  gladness  at  having  found 
her,  hardly  realizing  what  he  was  doing,  Jensen  held 
her  close  in  his  arms  and  murmured  comfortingly: 

"  It's  all  right  now.  We  were  the  ones  who  were 
lost;  we  wandered  from  the  trail  and  did  not  dis 
cover  it  for  some  time.  Then  we  came  back,  found 
your  empty  sledge,  thought  you  were  lost,  and  Babe 
and  I  came  out  to  search  for  you." 

For  an  instant  Kerry  Mallabee  lay  unresisting  in 
his  embrace,  and  the  nearness  of  her  sweet  presence 
seemed  ample  reward  for  all  his  recent  suffering. 
Then,  suddenly  appearing  to  realize  for  the  first  time 
where  she  was,  she  broke  away,  and  Jensen  thought 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD     145 

he  caught  a  look  of  sad  reproach  in  her  beautiful 
brown  eyes  as  she  said: 

"  We  must  return  to  Peter  Saint  at  once.  Can 
you  make  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  can  make  it,"  he  answered.  "  But 
you  ?  You  are  trembling  like  an  aspen  with  weak 
ness.  Lean  on  my  arm,  or  let  me  carry  you  ?  "  he 
added  eagerly. 

She  was  calmer  now;  refusing  his  arm  or  any 
assistance,  she  said,  a  little  coldly,  as  he  thought : 

"  No,  I  think  I  can  walk  alone."  She  stumbled 
ahead,  trying  bravely  to  fight  down  her  weakness. 

As  they  went  on  into  the  night,  silently,  side  by 
side,  led  by  Babe,  Jensen's  thoughts  were  filled  with 
the  memory  of  that  delirious  instant  when  he  had 
held  Kerry  Mallabee  so  close  to  his  racing  heart  he 
had  felt  her  own  beating  furiously  in  unison.  He 
knew  that  had  she  but  responded  to  his  mood,  Case 
BM432  and  her  part  in  it  would  have  been  forgotten. 
The  realization  of  this  treachery  against  the  Service 
that  he  had  barely  escaped  was,  in  a  sense,  humiliat 
ing,  yet  even  now,  as  he  looked  toward  her  again  in 
the  cool  soberness  of  second  thought,  he  could  almost 
believe  the  world  well  lost  for  so  tender,  so  beautiful 
and  womanly  a  woman. 

He  had  believed,  for  the  moment  at  least,  that  he 


146     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

loved  her,  and  he  dreaded  what  that  love  might  cause 
him  to  do  if  it  were  ever  returned;  but  she  had  not 
met  his  mood ;  she  had  repulsed  him,  and  therein  lay 
safety.  Yes,  he  thought,  therein  was  safety  for  Case 
BM432 ;  in  future  he  would  be  the  watchful  Secret 
Service  employee,  and  there  should  be  no  more  giving 
way  to  wild  excitement  and  the  mood  it  brought. 

They  finally  managed  to  get  back  to  the  komatics. 
Peter  Saint  was  so  overjoyed  at  their  safe  return  he 
took  the  wolf-collie  in  his  arms  and  rewarded  her 
with  innumerable  fond  caresses  as  he  declared : 

"  She  is  wan  bes'  dog  in  Canada,  my  Baby,  my 
leetle  sugar-plum.  She  ees  de  eyes,  de  nose,  an'  de 
teeth  for  Sin  Petair,  who  have  to  seet  like  beeg 
lazy  man  on  komatic  with  broken  foot  w'ile  dere  ees 
work  for  to  do." 

Safe  now  on  the  proper  trail,  they  started  on  again 
and  soon  reached  Tete  de  Loup  Cache,  which  proved 
to  be  but  a  short  distance  ahead.  It  was  a  gigantic 
rock  with  a  sheer  side  to  leeward.  There  was  no 
cache  there  at  present,  but  the  name  still  clung. 

With  plenty  of  wood  available,  a  roaring  fire  was 
soon  going,  and  a  generous-sized,  three-pole,  tarpaulin 
lean-to  erected  against  the  lee  side  of  the  rock  for 
shelter.  Despite  the  agony  of  pain  it  cost  him  to 
drag  his  helpless  foot  about,  the  habitan  insisted 


FIGHTING  THE  BLIZZARD     147 

upon  making  a  pot  of  coffee,  warming  a  can  of  beans, 
and  frying  bacon,  all  of  which  proved  wonderfully 
comforting  to  the  three  beat-out  people. 

Kerry  Mallabee  continued  to  treat  Jensen  pre 
cisely  as  she  had  treated  him  before  he  found  her  lost 
in  the  snow.  She  was  still  tenderly  solicitous  re 
garding  the  condition  of  his  injured  arm,  and  he 
could  not  say  that  her  voice  was  any  the  less  cordial 
when  she  inquired  about  it  than  it  had  been  before. 
Yet  there  was  something  oddly  inexplicable  in  her 
conduct  that  kept  him  always  at  a  certain  distance, 
as  it  had  from  the  very  first,  save  for  that  single 
moment  in  the  snow.  It  made  extended  conversation 
difficult  and  held  him  silent  many  times  when  he 
would,  otherwise,  have  been  inclined  to  talk  with  her. 


XI 

INTO    THE    UNKNOWN 

IT  was  late  the  next  morning  when  the  three  thor 
oughly  exhausted  travelers  camped  at  Tete  de 
Loup  Cache  awoke.  Even  the  usually  wakeful  Peter 
Saint  had  enjoyed  some  sleep,  despite  his  painful 
ankle,  and  the  fire  in  the  lee  side  of  the  big  "  Turk's 
head  "  rock  had  been  allowed  to  burn  down  to  a  heap 
of  glowing  embfers. 

The  wind  and  sleet  had  vanished  to  the  south,  and 
the  temperature  was  now  several  degrees  above  zero. 
The  fur-covered  dogs  sat  about  with  lolling  tongues. 
Peter  Saint  stretched  himself  with  a  yawn. 

"  My  Gar,"  he  declared  explosively  with  rich  dis 
gust,  as  he  tried  to  step  on  his  foot.  "  Theese  ees 
wan  bad  luck,  theese  bum  ankle  of  Sin  Petair's. 
Only  for  dat,  we  make  Camp  Argyle  by  sundown." 

"  Oh,  I  think  we'll  make  it  before  dark,"  said 
Kerry  Mallabee.  "  Anyway,  there'll  be  a  moon  to 
night.  I  knew  this  storm  couldn't  last ;  it's  too  early ; 
we're  not  due  to  be  snowed  in  up  here  for  several 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN         149 

weeks  yet.  It's  seven  years  since  we've  had  snow  so 
early  as  this." 

The  habitan  sniffed  the  air,  then  sat  down  in  the 
snow  and  drew  off  his  pack,  the  woolen  socks,  and  the 
swathes  of  binding  Jensen  had  wrapped  about  his 
injured  limb  the  night  before.  It  was  an  ugly  look 
ing  ankle,  yet  the  tight,  wet  wrappings  had  prevented 
it  from  swelling  much. 

"  Shall  I  dress  it  again  for  you  ?  "  asked  Jensen, 
as  he  gazed  down  on  the  seated  habitan  with  an  in 
drawn  breath  of  sympathy. 

"  Wait  wan  leetle  bit ;  Sin  Petair,  he  theenk  he 
feex  deese  bum  ankle  wat  is  no  good  for  anytheeng." 
He  began  to  manipulate  the  injured  limb  vigorously 
with  thumb  and  fingers. 

Slowly,  yet  surely,  Peter  Saint  pressed  the  bones 
together.  It  must  have  cost  him  an  infinity  of  the 
most  acute  pain  imaginable,  yet  his  steel-like  fingers 
never  faltered. 

Jensen  could  hear  the  bones  crunch  upon  one 
another.  It  made  him  faint  and  ill.  He  turned 
away  just  as  there  came  a  sharp,  jumping  snap,  and 
the  displaced  bone  shot  into  place.  Peter  Saint 
began  to  chuckle  softly  to. himself. 

"  Wall,  wall,  I  theenk  these  bum  ankle  eese  not  so 
bad,  after  all."  He  leaned  over  toward  the  sledge, 


150     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

secured  a  strip  of  rawhide,  and  proceeded  to  wind  it 
about  the  limb.  The  rawhide  would  shrink  and  hold 
the  bones  together  more  rigidly  than  bands  of  steel. 
Then  he  drew  on  the  socks,  laced  his  pac,  and  stood 
up. 

"  My  Gar,  I  theenk  we  make  Camp  Argyle  by 
sundown  now,  eh,  what,  my  Baby?  Harechon! 
Marechon !  " 

Peter  Saint  strode  off  as  sturdily  as  though  he  were 
stepping  upon  the  most  perfect  ankle  in  the  world, 
instead  of  upon  one  that  would  have  kept  an  ordi 
nary  man  in  the  hospital  for  a  week  with  his  limb 
shot  full  of  morphia  regularly  each  evening,  singing 
gaily  as  he  walked : 

"  Oh,  Jean  Baptiste !  pourquoi  ? 
Oh,  Jean  Baptiste!  pourquoi? 
Oh,  Jean  Baptiste,  pourquoi  you  grease 
My  little  dog's  nose  with  tar  ?  " 

As  they  resumed  their  journey,  Jensen's  mind  was 
beset  by  a  thousand  conjectures.  What  sort  of  a 
place  was  this  Camp  Argyle  ?  What  would  he  meet 
there  ?  How  would  they  treat  him,  a  stranger  whom 
Kerry  Mallabee  might  perhaps  tell  them  was  mas 
querading  under  a  name  that  was  not  his  own,  and 
who  was  bound  upon  a  mission  of  deceit  and  treach 
ery? 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN         151 

This  much  only  Jensen  felt  confident  of:  at  Camp 
Argyle  was  the  solution  of  Secret  Service  Case 
BM432.  Those  white  impressions  of  double  eagles 
that  the  frightened  Kerry  Mallabee  had  thrust  sud 
denly  into  the  fire  when  his  cry  startled  her  at  the 
Little  Babos  camp  were  sufficient  assurance  to  him 
that  the  solution  of  the  mystery  of  Case  BM432  was 
to  be  found  at  Camp  Argyle,  where  Dan  the  Swede 
had  come  from. 

That  Camp  Argyle  must  be  well  within  the  bor 
ders  of  Ungava  he  was  also  fairly  certain;  for  he 
knew  they  had  been  steadily  traveling  north,  and  he 
assumed  that  the  distance  covered  was  sufficient  to 
take  them  not  far  from  the  lower  Labrador  line,  or 
thereabouts.  He  was  also  certain  that  they  had  not 
veered  toward  Hudson  Bay,  for  he  was  reasonably 
familiar  with  the  bleak  and  barren  character  of 
that  vicinity,  and,  while  the  country  they  had 
passed  through  had  been  flat,  it  had  not  been  with 
out  frequent  patches  of  fir  and  spruce  along  the 
trail. 

Jensen  was  also  perfectly  aware  that  wherever  he 
might  be  going,  there  could  be  no  turning  back;  a 
return  trip  alone,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  even 
with  dogs  and  komatic,  would  be  practically  impos 
sible  for  a  man  like  himself  who  knew  nothing  of  the 


152     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

trails.  It  was  a  journey  with  every  bridge  burned 
behind  him. 

Then  he  looked  ahead  to  where  Kerry  Mallabee 
strode  along  beside  her  dog  team  and  thought  that 
being  here  with  her  was  more  than  a  slight  compen 
sation  for  the  uncertainty  of  this  mysterious  expedi 
tion  into  the  unknown. 

Yet,  even  of  her  he  could  scarcely  be  certain  in 
his  mind  for  many  moments.  Her  conduct  always 
puzzled  him,  now  more  than  ever.  Did  she  know  ? 
If  she  did  know,  why  was  she  leading  him  to  Camp 
Argyle?  His  injured  arm  was  no  longer  a  reason 
for  keeping  on,  and  she  must  be  aware  of  the  fact; 
it  had  improved  so  much  within  the  last  twenty-four 
hours  that  he  felt  quite  himself  again. 

When  he  had  found  her  there  in  the  snow  and 
darkness  on  the  evening  before,  and  she  lay  for  a 
moment  in  his  arms  sobbing  like  a  frightened  child, 
he  had  thought  her  heart  warmed  toward  him,  yet 
since  then  she  had  shown  no  disposition  to  treat  him 
any  different  from  the  manner  in  which  she  treated 
the  habitan. 

She  sometimes  engaged  in  low-toned  conversation 
with  Peter  Saint,  and  Jensen  felt  that  he  was  the 
subject  of  their  talk.  There  was,  however,  but  one 
thing  for  him  to  do ;  keep  on.  He  was  still  a  Secret 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN         153 

Service  employee,  and  his  mission  was  to  find  the 
source  of  those  counterfeit  double  eagles.  Whatever 
else  might  fleck  the  surface,  that  was,  after  all,  the 
essential  thing  he  must  steadily  hold  to. 

As  the  keen,  cold  air  of  the  morning  filled  his 
lungs,  stimulating  his  muscles  to  splendid  exertion, 
Jensen  thought  it  was  good  to  be  there,  even  though 
the  spot  were  a  thousand  miles  from  civilization.  In 
every  breath,  in  every  move  of  his  body,  and  in  every 
thing  his  eager  eyes  saw,  he  caught  the  call  of  the 
Red  Gods. 

As  he  came  nearer  to  Camp  Argyle,  something  of 
the  same  joyous  feeling  that  had  filled  his  heart  when 
he  heard  the  first  sounds  of  a  visitor  approaching  the 
Little  Babos  camp  after  his  six  days'  lonely  waiting 
there  was  again  his.  There  was  conflict  of  skill, 
perhaps  clash  of  fists  ahead,  and  he  felt  like  nothing 
so  much  as  hurrying  toward  it. 

Only  he  hoped  the  coming  battle  was  to  be  between 
men;  somehow  he  thought  his  contest  of  wits  with 
Kerry  Mallabee  had  not  left  victory  entirely  on  his 
side.  Perhaps  he  had  held  his  own ;  but  certainly  he 
had  gained  no  great  victories,  or  at  least,  that  was 
the  way  he  looked  at  it. 

He  was  learning  to  care  for  her  more  than  he  ought 
as  a  Secret  Service  man,  he  knew  that,  yet  he  hesi- 


154     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

tated  to  confess  it,  even  to  himself.  She  had  been  so 
tender  a  nurse  that  her  winning  manner  was  making 
her  dearer  to  him  every  hour  they  spent  together ;  all 
this  in  spite  of  the  grim  suspicion  that  she  was  con 
cerned  in  a  matter  decidedly  shady. 

They  halted  at  mid-day  for  a  rest  and  to  partake 
of  a  meal  of  hard  tack  and  pemmican,  then  started 
again  on  what  Peter  Saint  declared  was  the  last  leg 
of  their  journey. 

Just  as  darkness  began  to  fall,  Kerry  Mallabee  lin 
gered  behind  where  she  might  walk  beside  Jensen. 

The  painful  journey  they  had  made  together  had 
brought  the  two  men  of  the  party  closer  together,  yet, 
in  spite  of  Jensen's  best  efforts  to  express  his  grati 
tude  for  the  noble  part  the  habitan  had  played  in 
bringing  the  medicine  case  out  of  the  burning  Little 
Babos  cabin,  Peter  had  failed  to  show  any  great  cor 
diality  in  return.  Jensen  was,  therefore,  grateful 
for  Kerry  Mallabee's  company  now,  and  probably  his 
face  showed  it ;  anyway,  she  favored  him  with  a  little 
smile. 

"  You  look  lonesome,  Boy,  so  I  am  going  to  walk 
with  you  for  a  while."  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
used  the  softly  sounding  title  "  Boy  "  since  the  hour 
he  had  discovered  her  lost  in  the  snow. 

"  I  was  lonesome,"  declared  Jensen  impulsively, 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN         155 

"  and  beginning  to  fear  I  must  have  done  something 
to  offend.  Or  perhaps  that  my  company  was  no 
longer 'welcome  in  the  party." 

She  turned  toward  him  with  a  little  frown  of  per 
plexity  shadowing  her  sad  eyes,  and  he  added : 

"  To  be  sure,  I  don't  know  why  I  am  keeping  on 
with  you.  My  arm  is  almost  perfectly  well  now, 
thanks  to  your  kind  ministrations,  and  there  is  noth 
ing  to  call  me  to  Camp  Argyle.  My  errand  was  only 
to  the  Little  Babos  camp  and  to  return  with  the  pack 
age  Dan  the  Swede  brought  there,  as  I  understand  it. 
But  that  package  was  burned  with  the  shack.  Really, 
I  ought  to  be  making  the  back  trail  toward  Quebec 
instead  of  traveling  ahead  with  you  and  Peter  Saint." 
He  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"  You  are  going  to  Camp  Argyle  because  I  want 
you  to  go,"  she  said.  "  Is  that  too  small  a  reason  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  so  deeply  indebted 
to  you,  Miss  Mallabee,  that  to  go  to  Camp  Argyle  at 
your  wish  would  be  the  least  thing  I  could  do  in  re 
turning  a  very  small  part  of  what  I  owe  to  the  woman 
who  has  saved  my  life." 

He  saw  from  her  gathering  frown  that  his  expres 
sions  of  gratitude  did  not  please  her,  and  he  added : 

"  But,  is  that  a  reason,  a  real  reason,  I  mean  ? 
Why  do  you  wish  me  to  go  there  ?  " 


156     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Jensen  himself  desired,  above  all  things,  to  go  on 
to  Camp  Argyle,  since  it  was  there  he  confidently  ex 
pected  to  find  the  key  to  Case  BM432,  yet  he  knew 
it  would  not  be  wise  to  openly  give  expression  to  any 
such  desire. 

A  moon,  three  quarters  full,  swung  high  overhead 
in  a  milky  sea  of  glittering  stars.  It  made  a  bril 
liant,  blue-white  field  of  the  snow-covered  earth  about 
and  lent  a  subtle,  mystic  fascination  to  the  lonely, 
silent  scene  where  no  life  showed  save  this  man  and 
woman  and  the  two  dog  teams,  a  dark,  blurred  mass 
in  the  moonlight  far  ahead. 

Kerry  Mallabee  stopped,  turned  toward  him,  and 
placed  one  hand  upon  his  arm  as  she  said  slowly  and 
with  a  wonderfully  winning  note  in  her  voice: 

"  Boy,  do  you  think  you  could  do  a  very  great 
thing  for  me,  and  do  it  blindly,  without  putting  ques 
tions?" 

He  looked  into  her  shadowed  face  and  tried  to  take 
her  hand  in  his  as  he  answered ;  but  the  hand  evaded 
his  grasp,  whether  by  intent  or  accident  he  did  not 
know,  for  she  lifted  it  up  to  twist  aside  a  strand  of 
her  gold  hair  the  wind  had  blown  across  her  face. 

"  I  think  I  could  do  a  great  deal  for  you ;  but  I 
fear  I  am  only  human,  I  should  like  to  know  what 
I  was  doing  and  why." 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN        157 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  and  considered  a  mo 
ment  before  she  spoke. 

"  No,"  she  decided.  "  It  must  be  done  blindly 
and  without  explanations,  for  the  present,  at  least, 
if  you  are  to  do  it  at  all.  Were  I  to  tell  you  why 
you  are  to  do  what  you  will,  the  very  knowledge  would 
make  it  impossible  for  you." 

She  had  spoken  confidently,  apparently  taking  it 
quite  for  granted  that  he  would  do  what  she  asked. 
A  slight  turning  away  of  his  eyes  from  hers  as  he 
considered,  made  her  add : 

"  Xot  that  you  would  think  it  wrong,  but  that  exact 
knowledge  would  be  your  greatest  drawback  to  suc 
cessful  accomplishment.  Do  you  think  you  can  do 
it,  Boy?" 

She  was  standing  close  to  him  bathed  in  a  halo  of 
mellow  moonlight.  He  saw  a  beautiful  woman, 
sensed  a  wonderful  mystery,  and  caught  the  illusive 
attraction  of  her  presence.  Her  inexplicable  aloof 
ness  but  added  to  her  subtle  fascination.  The  physi 
cal  nearness  of  her  seemed  almost  to  draw  his  soul 
from  his  body ;  he  did  not  hesitate  to  devour  her  face 
with  his  longing  glance,  yet  he  dared  not  take  her  in 
his  arms  unless  she  would  first  come.  He  seemed  to 
hear  his  own  voice  speaking  as  from  a  distance,  yet 
he  could  have  almost  sworn  it  was  not  his  own  brain 


158     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

dictating  the  words.  For  all  that  he  knew  he  meant 
the  words  —  after  they  were  spoken. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can,  and  I  will,"  he  answered 
slowly  and  thoughtfully,  as  one  accepting  a  conse 
crated  task. 

For  one  fleeting  second  he  found  her  warm  hand 
resting  passive  in  his  as  she  said  with  deep  feeling: 

"  Thank  you,  Boy !  I  knew  you  would."  Then 
the  hand  was  quickly  withdrawn  and  he  had  a  sensa 
tion  of  being  suddenly  revived  from  some  sweetly 
pleasant  yet  powerful  anesthetic  as  she  spoke  her 
next  sentence  in  a  commonplace  tone  and  they  walked 
on  again,  side  by  side. 

"  The  first  thing  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  meet  my 
father,  Stephen  Mallabee." 

Her  bald  statement  brought  a  yanking  back  to 
earth  that  was  painful. 

"  Certainly  that  is  not  much  ? "  he  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  I 
want  you  to  meet  him  and  listen  to  all  he  will  say  to 
you  with  an  open  mind.  My  father  is  a  wonderful 
man.  If  he  becomes  interested  in  you,  as  I  think 
he  will,  he  will  tell  you  some  astounding  things.  I 
want  you  to  listen  to  him,  as  I  said,  with  an  open 
mind  and  to  make  him  like  you,  if  you  can." 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN         159 

Her  words  brought  disquieting  thoughts  stabbing 
home  to  Jensen's  brain.  Could  it  be  her  father, 
Stephen  Mallabee,  who  was  the  head  of  this  vast 
counterfeiting  plan  ?  Was  she  thus  attempting  to  en 
list  him  in  the  scheme?  He  joltingly  found  him 
self  remembering  what  Springvale  had  mumbled  in 
his  ravings  regarding  "  false-hearted  siren  and  satyrs 
who  led  unsuspecting  mortals  into  concealed  pits  of 
destruction."  Was  Peter  Saint  the  satyr  and  she 
the  false-hearted  siren  Tom  Springvale  had  referred 
to?  Had  she  led  Springvale  on  as  she  was  leading 
him  on  ?  Was  she  playing  a  game  ? 

"  Well,"  he  thought,  "  if  she  was  playing  a  game, 
it  was,  at  least,  a  game  two  could  play  at,  and  cer 
tainly  nothing  would  fit  nicer  with  his  own  mission 
into  the  North  than  what  she  proposed." 

"  Who  shall  I  represent  myself  to  be  to  your 
father  ?  "  he  asked. 

Did  a  tiny  ironical  smile  play  about  the  finely 
moulded  mouth  of  Kerry  Mallabee  as  he  asked  his 
question?  Jensen  thought  the  moonlight  afforded 
him  a  suggestion  of  something  of  the  sort,  yet  he 
could  not  be  certain,  and  her  words  sounded  true 
enough  when  she  answered: 

"  Tell  him  exactly  what  you  told  us  at  the  Little 
Babos  camp ;  he  will  be  especially  anxious  to  hear 


160     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

what  you  have  to  say  of  Springvale's  illness,  and  he 
will  be  glad  to  know  the  man  who  was  Springvale's 
friend  at  the  last." 

Again  her  hand  brushed  his  and  she  looked  in 
tently  into  his  eyes  as  she  added  very  earnestly: 
"  Boy,  you  cannot  understand  what  a  tremendous 
trust  I  am  putting  in  you,  and  I  cannot  tell  you 
enough  to  make  you  understand;  but  I  am  sure  you 
won't  fail  me  in  this." 

"  Is  this  all  I  am  to  know  ? "  he  asked  a  little 
shakily,  for  he  found  it  difficult  to  control  himself 
when  she  talked  to  him  in  this  manner. 

"  Now  ?  Yes,  but  perhaps  I  can  tell  you  more 
after  you  have  met  my  father  and  come  to  know  him. 
He,  himself,  will  probably  have  much  to  tell  you. 
You  must  permit  circumstances,  as  they  develop,  and 
your  own  good  instincts,  to  guide  you." 

Peter  Saint  and  the  dog  teams  having  paused  for 
a  slight  rest,  Jensen  and  Kerry  Mallabee  had  now 
caught  up  with  them.  As  the  two  teams  started  on 
again,  Kerry  Mallabee's  animals  suddenly  became 
greatly  excited.  With  a  parting  word  to  Jensen  to 
remember  his  promise,  she  left  him  and  ran  forward 
to  give  them  attention. 

Her  team  was  madly  racing  ahead,  trying  to  catch 
up  with  Peter  Saint's  leaders.  As  her  dogs  made 


INTO  THE  UNKNOWN        161 

it  and  came  abreast  of  the  habitan's  team,  his  dogs 
broke  into  a  faster  pace,  and  Jensen  was  well  put  to 
it  to  keep  the  remainder  of  the  party  in  sight  as  they 
plunged  through  the  snow  amid  a  chorus  of  excited 
cries  from  the  beasts  and  wild  shouts  from  Peter 
Saint,  who  was  being  dragged  on  by  Babe's  leading 
string. 


XII 

NEWS    FROM    THE    NORTH 

TO  set  up  opposition  toward  any  pet  pian  of 
Secret  Service  Chief  Hilkie  was  to  immedi 
ately  arouse  all  the  fighting  instinct  in  the  man's  na 
ture.  It  was  also  common  remark  in  the  department 
that  the  chief  always  did  more  effective  work  on  a 
particularly  difficult  case. 

It  is  probable  that  J.  J.  Kerrison,  head  of  the  Ker- 
rison  Syndicate,  knew  nothing  of  this  marked  char 
acteristic  in  the  chief's  disposition,  or  he  might  have 
hesitated  before  playing  that  little  trick  of  inviting 
the  chief  to  a  conference  at  the  Waldorf  for  nine 
o'clock  on  a  certain  Tuesday  morning  and  then  leav 
ing  the  hotel  bag  and  baggage  long  before  that  hour 
arrived.  Still,  there  is  no  telling;  neither  man  was 
a  person  at  all  addicted  to  doing  the  expected  thing. 

When  Chief  Hilkie  visited  the  Waldorf-Astoria 
and  discovered  the  shabby  trick  Kerrison  had  played 
on  him,  his  first  thought  was  that  the  man  must  have 
something  mighty  important  to  conceal.  On  second 
thought  he  cast  this  idea  aside.  Knowing  Kerrison's 


NEWS  FROM  THE  NORTH     163 

nature  to  be  like  that  of  the  fox,  the  chief  felt  certain 
that,  if  the  Syndicate  head  really  had  anything  per 
sonal  to  conceal,  he  would  probably  have  welcomed 
investigation  and  endeavored  to  lead  the  investigators 
astray  by  back-tracking  and  by  oily  affability  that 
held  forward  frankly  open  palms  while  concealing 
his  card  on  the  back  of  his  hands.  Such  had  been 
Kerrison' s  course  during  the  several  government  in 
vestigations  that  had  to  do  with  his  political  aspira 
tions  and  his  part  in  what  was  termed  in  newspaper 
parlance  "  the  Money  Trust." 

No  other  witness  appearing  before  the  Congres 
sional  investigating  committee  had  been  so  free  with 
information ;  none  had  said  so  much,  yet  told  so 
little.  Kerrison  seemed  to  possess  the  ability  to  sink 
facts  so  deeply  in  the  sea  of  words  that  it  was  difficult 
to  hook  them  up  again  until  he  was  well  off  the 
stand  and  out  of  jurisdiction.  Then  the  cross-ex 
aminer  usually  came  to  himself  with  a  jerk,  and 
for  the  first  time  saw  the  opportunities  he  had 
missed. 

The  chief  was  a  man  of  resources.  In  less  than 
one  hour  after  leaving  the  Waldorf,  he  had  unearthed 
the  information  that  J.  J.  Kerrison  had  departed 
that  morning  over  one  of  his  own  railroads,  in  his 
own  private  car,  for  his  own  three-thousand-acre 


164     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

hunting  preserve  in  northern  Vermont.  If  old  J.  J. 
expected  thus  to  find  secret  seclusion,  he  was  mis 
taken;  within  a  remarkably  short  time  Chief  Hilkie 
with  three  of  his  men  was  also  aboard  a  fast  train 
traveling  toward  the  same  section  of  northern  Ver 
mont. 

"  Merely  a  few  hours'  difference  and  a  little  con 
fusion  in  our  locations,  that's  all,"  declared  the  chief 
with  a  smile  to  Beck,  his  assistant.  "  Old  J.  J.  said 
'  Tuesday  morning ' ;  I'll  make  it  Tuesday  evening, 
and  the  place  Craggmorie,  instead  of  Suite  C  at  the 
Waldorf-Astoria  hotel." 

Before  taking  his  train  for  northern  Vermont,  the 
chief  visited  his  New  York  headquarters  and  in 
quired  if  any  news  had  come  in  from  Varick  or 
Crewly,  the  two  Secret  Service  men  who  had  gone 
into  Canada  to  follow  after  Alan  Jensen.  There 
was  news. 

The  chief's  private  secretary  was  at  that  very 
moment  finishing  the  deciphering  of  a  message  in 
Secret  Service  code  that  had  come  through  but  twenty 
minutes  previous,  having  found  its  devious  way  over 
several  thousand  miles  of  barren  territory,  partly  by 
relay,  partly  by  wireless  and  the  remainder  of  the 
distance  by  direct  wire. 

The  chief  picked  up  the  sheet  of  paper  handed  him 


NEWS  FROM  THE  NORTH     165 

by  the  secretary  and  read  the  typewritten  message 
thereon : 

"  Arrived  Little  Babos  camp  in  snowstorm  this  morning. 
Cabin  recently  burned  and  deserted.  Charred  remains  of  man 
seven  feet  tall  and  two  thousand  counterfeit  double  eagles 
found  in  ruins.  Party  of  two  people  with  dogs  and  sledges 
left  cabin  going  north  shortly  before  we  arrived.  One  woman. 
Other  person  probably  Jensen.  We  follow,  well  equipped,  but 
snowstorm  makes  trail  difficult  to  follow. 

"  VABICK. 

"  CBEWLY." 

"  Cr-acky !  "  snapped  the  amazed  chief,  as  his  eyes 
danced  with  the  joy  of  discovery.  "  That's  the  most 
important  development  yet  to  occur  in  Case  BM432. 
Jensen  was  on  the  right  lead ;  he's  beat  us  all.  But 
it's  Canada,  and  that  complicates  matters  most 
damnably.  I'll  have  to  consult  the  State  Depart 
ment." 

Then  the  chief  fell  to  musing  a  moment  as  he  bit 
the  ends  of  his  brown  moustache  and  studied  the 
message  anew,  murmuring  to  himself : 

"  Um-m,  a  woman.  Odd.  I  can't  quite  see  where 
she  fits  into  this.  I  wonder.  Now  I  wonder  is 
she —  O  pshaw!  that's  impossible;  I  know  where 
she  is." 

The  chief  dropped  the  message,  swung  around  in 
his  chair,  and  soon  had  Washington  on  the  long  dis 
tance  wire.  After  a  lengthy  conversation  with  an 


166     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

important  personage  in  the  State  Department,  the 
chief  dictated  several  sheets  of  instructions  to  be  left 
behind  with  his  private  secretary  and  then  took  his 
departure  for  the  Vermont  express. 

"  I'll  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,"  said  the  chief 
to  Beck,  as  he  hurriedly  threw  a  few  necessities  into 
a  traveling  bag.  "  See  old  J.  J.  and  also  get  so 
much  closer  to  this  very  promising  lead  that  Crewly 
and  Varick  have  discovered. 

Late  that  same  day  the  chief  and  three  of  his  men 
left  their  train  at  Carldale,  Vermont,  on  the  Cana 
dian  Pacific,  that  being  the  nearest  station  to  Cragg- 
morie,  Kerrison's  hunting  preserve.  From  Carldale 
it  would  be  necessary  to  proceed  several  miles  by 
motor  in  order  to  reach  Craggmorie.  A  sheaf  of 
telegrams  and  an  impatiently  chugging  motor-car 
awaited  the  chief  as  he  stepped  from  the  train  at 
Carldale.  He  first  glanced  through  the  telegrams 
and  then  looked  down  the  track  toward  a  siding, 
where  he  saw  with  satisfaction  that  Kerrison's  pala 
tial  private  car,  the  Loch  Lavon,  was  standing.  In 
stead  of  boarding  the  waiting  motor-car,  the  chief 
went  inside  the  shabby  little  station  and  had  several 
minutes'  conversation  with  the  agent. 

"  She'll  be  due  in  about  forty  minutes,"  the  agent 
was  heard  to  say,  as  Chief  Hilkie  finally  came  out 


NEWS  FROM  THE  NORTH     167 

from  the  combination  ticket  booth,  telegraph  office, 
and  trainmen's  loafing  headquarters.  "  I  just  got 
word  from  her  on  the  D.  &  V.  branch.  It's  a  clear 
track  ahead  now,  and  she'll  burn  up  the  rails  getting 
here." 

For  forty  minutes  the  chief  paced  back  and  forth 
like  a  caged  animal  on  the  restricted  station  platform 
outside,  alternately  chewing  at  the  ends  of  his  mous 
tache  and  lighting  cigars,  only  to  throw  each  cigar 
away  before  he  had  smoked  a  quarter  its  length.  At 
the  end  of  forty  minutes  a  powerful  locomotive  draw 
ing  a  single  car  came  slam-banging  over  the  bridge 
from  the  south,  coughed  its  way  importantly  up  to 
the  Carldale  station,  dropped  a  single  passenger  from 
its  single  car,  and  then  backed  onto  the  siding  where 
Kerrison's  car  was  located  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
effectively  pocket  the  Loch  Lav  on.  The  two  cars 
now  stood  close  together,  the  locomotive  headed  out 
of  the  blind  siding. 

The  single  passenger  to  alight  from  this  train  was 
a  short,  immaculately  dressed,  rosy-cheeked  chap  of 
cherubic  countenance,  some  fifty  years  old.  Evi 
dently  this  person  was  some  one  whose  arrival  the 
chief  had  been  expecting,  and  quite  as  evidently  he 
of  the  cherubic  countenance  had  expected  to  find 
Chief  Hilkie  awaiting  him  at  this  very  much  out-of- 


168     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

the-way  station,  for  the  two  men  greeted  one  another 
cordially  and  engaged  in  an  extended  confidential 
talk.  At  the  close  of  this  conversation,  the  latest 
arrival  at  Carldale  by  special  train  burst  into  a  fit 
of  chuckling  laughter,  left  the  chief,  and  strolled  off 
toward  his  own  car  down  on  the  siding. 

Entering  this  car  and  selecting  a  comfortable  chair 
directly  beneath  a  cluster  of  lights,  for  it  was  quite 
dark  now,  this  gentleman  drew  forth  a  paper-bound 
nickel  novel  from  his  inside  breast  pocket  and  was 
soon  lost  to  a  realization  of  all  exterior  things  as  he 
mentally  followed  the  fortunes  of  Billy  Van,  the  Boy 
Detective. 

After  having  finished  his  conversation  with  the 
man  of  the  cherubic  countenance,  who  must  have 
been  a  person  of  considerable  importance,  if  one 
might  judge  by  the  deferential  manner  in  which  the 
employees  about  the  station  gave  him  the  right  of 
way  and  berth  for  his  special  train,  Chief  Hilkie  re- 
entered  the  little  station,  stuck  his  head  in  the  ticket 
window  and  said  to  the  agent : 

"  Allow  me  thirty  minutes  to  get  up  there,  then 
you  call  up  Kerrison's  and  tell  them  Chief  Hilkie 
of  the  United  States  Secret  Service  has  just  arrived 
in  Carldale  and  was  making  inquiries  about  Cragg- 
morie.  If  they  ask  where  I  am  now,  tell  them  you 


NEWS  FROM  THE  NORTH     169 

don't  know  for  certain,  but  you  think  I  went  to  the 
Shepard  Inn  for  the  night.  Get  J.  J.  if  you  can." 

After  leaving  these  precise  instructions  with  the 
station  agent,  the  chief  and  two  of  his  men  entered 
the  motor-car  that  had  been  awaiting  their  order  and 
were  whirled  away  in  the  night  toward  Craggmorie 
and  the  Canadian  frontier.  The  fourth  man  of  the 
chief's  party  was  left  behind,  and  he  spent  the  time 
in  the  ticket  booth  swapping  stories  with  the  agent 
as  they  sat  before  the  stove  in  their  shirt  sleeves, 
burning  up  a  generous  supply  of  cigars  the  chief  had 
thoughtfully  left  behind  for  their  consumption. 

At  frequent  intervals  this  fourth  man,  whose  name 
was  Widden,  a  stocky,  strawberry  blond  chap  with  a 
close-bitten  red  moustache,  would  go  to  the  door  and 
listen  intently  up  the  main  road.  Finally  he  pulled 
forth  a  huge  silver  watch  and  said : 

"  Thirty  minutes ;  better  call  'em  up  now,  cap'." 

The  station  agent  stepped  to  the  telephone,  rang 
up  Craggmorie,  and  asked  for  Mr.  Kerrison.  After 
a  few  moments'  delay,  he  evidently  got  the  party  de 
sired,  for  he  carefully  told  them  what  the  chief  had 
directed.  Then  he  hung  up  the  receiver  and 
slouched  back  to  his  chair  beside  the  stove  with  a 
broad  grin  overspreading  his  face. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  asked  Widden. 


170     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Just  '  hell,'  and  cut  off.  Not  another  word ; 
just  <  hell.'  " 

"  Well,  gimme  your  hat  now,  and  you  can  go 
home,"  said  Widden.  "  I'll  see  that  everything  is 
all  right,  and  if  I  have  to  leave,  I'll  lock  up  and  send 
you  over  the  keys." 

Over  the  bridge  and  fourteen  miles  outside  of 
Carldale,  Chief  Hilkie's  motor  came  upon  the  outer 
boundaries  of  Craggmorie,  an  enormous  game  pre 
serve,  entirely  surrounded  by  a  high  wire  fence. 
Having  arrived  by  the  main  road  to  town,  the  party 
struck  Craggmorie  at  the  main  gate.  Here  they  put 
out  their  lights  and  drew  in  at  one  side  of  the  road 
in  the  dark  shadows  of  some  dense  trees.  The  chief 
pulled  out  his  watch  and  inspected  it  in  the  glare  of 
a  pocket  flash. 

"  Just  thirty-one  minutes,"  he  said  to  Beck. 
"  The  station  agent  should  be  talking  to  them  now. 
I'd  like  to  see  Kerrison's  face  when  he  hears  what's 
up.  If  the  old  fox  means  to  run  again,  we'll  hear 
his  car  chugging  through  that  gate  in  ten  minutes; 
but  I  don't  think  he'll  run  this  time." 

They  waited  for  five,  then  ten  minutes  in  the  cold 
and  darkness.  Finally  a  faint  whirring  sound  could 
be  heard  off  to  the  north  inside  the  gate. 

"  Hell !  "  barked  the  chief  under  his  breath,  un- 


NEWS  FROM  THE  NORTH     171 

consciously  duplicating  the  expression  old  J.  J.  had 
uttered  a  few  moments  previous. 

A  second  or  two  later  a  high-power,  closed  motor 
car  with  flaring  lights  shot  through  the  gateway  and 
vanished  swiftly  down  the  road.  The  chief  had  a 
fleeting  glimpse  of  a  well  muffled  figure  in  a  tall  hat 
seated  inside  the  car. 

"  I  didn't  think  he'd  do  it.  Seems  a  silly  move, 
too,"  he  said  to  Beck.  "  Almost  makes  me  think  the 
old  gold  king  really  has  something  to  conceal;  or 
else  he's  losing  his  mind.  But  I  was  fixed  for  this ; 
he'll  not  travel  far  to-night;  Widden  and  Francis 
will  hold  him." 

The  sleepy  Craggmorie  keeper  who  had  opened  the 
gate  for  Kerrison's  motor  evidently  expected  the  car 
would  soon  return,  for  he  re-entered  his  little  lodge 
without  closing  the  gate.  After  waiting  some  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  the  chief  instructed  his  chauffeur  to 
again  turn  on  the  lights;  they  then  moved  slowly 
down  the  road  a  short  distance,  turned  around,  put 
on  full  speed,  came  back,  and  whirled  inside  the 
Craggmorie  gate  and  up  the  avenue  to  the  main  lodge 
on  two  wheels.  Looking  back,  the  chief  saw  the 
sleepy  keeper  come  out  and  close  the  gate  after  them, 
seemingly  unsuspicious  of  who  had  just  passed  in 
side  the  grounds. 


172     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Simple  curiosity,  perhaps,"  said  Chief  Hilkie  to 
Beck.  "  But  while  Kerrison  is  absent,  I  want  to 
see  what  Craggmorie  lodge  looks  like  at  close  range." 


XIII 

BLACK   DEVIL'S    BED 


THE  three  people  journeying  toward  Camp 
Argyle  had  been  traveling  slowly  but  steadily 
upward  into  a  much  higher  country  for  some  hours, 
and  here  and  there  were  frequent  patches  of  spruce 
and  pine,  yet  Jensen  could,  as  yet,  discern  no  cause 
for  the  recent  unusual  excitement  of  the  dogs. 

A  moment  later,  as  he  hurried  on,  he  thought  he 
made  out  what  appeared  to  be  two  tall  masts  extend 
ing  many  feet  into  the  air  on  a  little  height  some  dis 
tance  ahead. 

Approaching  nearer,  he  was  able  to  distinguish 
some  sort  of  a  framework,  reaching  through  the  air 
from  the  top  of  one  mast  to  the  other.  A  closer  look 
disclosed  its  nature;  it  was  the  high  swung  antenna 
of  a  wireless  station!  But  why  a  wireless  station 
without  a  house  or  a  sign  of  a  human  being  any 
where,  and  in  what  he  took  to  be  almost  the  center  of 
unexplored  Ungava  ? 

He  ran  on  eagerly,  his  mind  filled  with  a  thou 
sand  speculations. 


174     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

As  he  topped  a  slight  rise  ahead,  Jensen  slowed  his 
pace  and  fell  back  with  astonishment.  He  found  he 
was  traveling  along  the  edge  of  a  drop  of  almost  a 
hundred  feet.  Below,  showing  clear  cut  in  the  moon 
light,  was  a  wide  canyon,  almost  a  valley;  through 
this  canyon  ran  a  small  river,  from  which  rose  a 
misty  cloud  of  vapor.  To  his  right  he  could  see 
where  the  river  broke  over  a  high,  rocky  precipice; 
beside  this  rather  thin  stream  of  falling  water  was 
a  piece  of  cement  work  he  recognized,  even  with  his 
limited  engineering  knowledge,  as  a  turbine  tower, 
and  beside  this  tower  nestled  a  compact  power  sta 
tion  built  of  cement. 

Clustered  about  the  foot  of  the  falls  was  a  gath 
ering  of  well  constructed  log  houses.  There  was 
also  what  he  took  to  be  a  long  bunkhouse,  a  smaller 
cook-house,  and  six  or  eight  single  cabins  ranged 
loosely  and  far  apart  in  a  hollow  square  about  a  more 
pretentious  building,  built  with  some  regard  to  archi 
tectural  effect  and  evidently  containing  many  rooms. 
This  larger  building  was  of  the  bungalow  type  and 
was  completely  surrounded  by  a  commodious  piazza. 
To  the  left  of  the  power  house,  on  a  spot  of  lower 
ground,  were  several  enormous  dump  heaps  of  pecul 
iar  deposit,  showing  black  where  new  quantities  had 
been  recently  dropped  on  the  snow-covered  surface. 


BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED          175 

Against  the  sheer  side  of  the  cliff,  beside  the  falls, 
was  an  opening  that  Jensen  supposed  to  be  the  en 
trance  to  some  sort  of  a  mine ;  yet  he  knew,  from  the 
type  of  the  buildings  clustered  about,  that  it  could  be 
neither  a  gold,  silver,  nor  a  copper  mine.  About  the 
power  house  he  saw  several  dark  forms  nearing. 

The  sudden  discovery  of  this  well  equipped  camp 
where  Jensen  had  previously  supposed  was  nothing 
but  miles  upon  miles  of  unexplored  barren  waste, 
with  a  few  sparse  spots  of  forest  growths,  filled  his 
mind  with  amazement.  He  gazed  down  on  the  still, 
moon-drenched  scene  with  conflicting  emotions;  he 
was  glad  to  be  there;  it  promised  something  definite 
in  Case  BM432;  yet  what  part  did  Kerry  Mallabee 
play  in  this  ?  Some  one  spoke  at  his  elbow,  and  he 
turned  to  see  her  standing  close  beside  him,  a  faint 
smile  wreathed  about  her  mouth  and  tempering  her 
usually  sad  eyes  as  she  inspected  his  own  puzzled 
features. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  is  Camp  Argyle  and  my 
home.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  But  here,  in  the  center  of  Ungava  ?  "  he  stam 
mered.  "  I  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  that  there  could 
be  anything  of  the  sort  away  up  here.  Of  course  I 
can  see  it  is  a  mine,  and  it  was  evidently  located  sev 
eral  years  ago,  judging  by  the  age  of  the  buildings; 


176     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

but  why  did  we  never  hear  of  it  back  in  the  States, 
and  how  did  it  come  here  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  made  a  little  playful 
moue.  "  Questions  and  more  questions,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  promised  not  to  ask  them.  If  this  is  the 
way  you  start  in  to  maintain  your  promise,  where 
will  you  end  ?  " 

"  But  —  but,"  he  stammered  again,  "  I  didn't 
think  you  meant  me  to  go  on  absolutely  blind." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  still  playfully.  "  Not  quite 
that ;  father  would  expect,  of  course,  that  I  could  not 
bring  you  here  without  telling  you  something  of  the 
place.  That  would  indeed  be  blind  obedience  to  me, 
and  the  last  thing  in  the  world  I  would  want  my 
father,  Stephen  Mallabee,  to  look  for  in  you. 

"  This  is  a  mine  of  pitchblende,"  she  continued. 
"  It  was  located  here  many  years  ago  by  my  father 
and  has  been  kept  a  secret  in  the  furtherance  of 
certain  plans  he  has  in  mind.  You  never  heard  of 
it  in  the  States  because  the  outfit  was  brought  here 
from  England  by  way  of  Hudson  Strait  and  TJngava 
Bay,  and  because  the  product  mined  here  has  never 
been  marketed  in  the  States." 

Pitchblende!  her  utterance  of  the  word  sent  Jen 
sen's  mind  bounding  to  the  nth  point  of  exaltation; 
then  as  quickly  dropped  it  to  the  uttermost  depths  of 


BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED          177 

despair.  This,  then,  must  be  the  mysterious  source 
of  "  ithite "  he  had  been  commissioned  by  Chief 
Hilkie  to  discover.  Here,  too,  should  be  a  clear  trail 
to  the  secret  of  the  most  astounding  counterfeit 
scheme  that  had  ever  engaged  the  attention  of  the 
United  States  Secret  Service.  Yet  Kerry  Malla- 
bee's  father  must  be  at  the  head  of  it;  everything 
pointed  unmistakably  to  that  conclusion. 

"  Come,"  she  said.  "  We  will  go  down  into  the 
canyon;  it  is  called  Black  Devil's  Bed.  That  is 
Black  Devil  River.  The  canyon  is  a  sort  of  gigantic 
trough  the  river  dug  out  seons  ago  when  it  came  to 
this  softer  clay  after  flowing  for  miles  over  its  rocky 
bed.  Black  Devil's  Bed  was  formerly  almost  filled 
by  the  river ;  but  father  built  a  huge  dam  up  above  in 
order  to  lower  the  stream  for  an  entrance  to  his  mine. 
The  mine  help  here  are  all  foreigners,  Swedes  and  a 
few  Finlanders;  father  gathers  most  of  these  men 
abroad,  bringing  them  under  contract  to  return  them 
to  their  own  country.  They  haven't  the  remotest 
idea  where  they  are;  they  couldn't  leave  if  they 
wanted  to,  until  he  gets  ready  to  take  them  out.  He 
selects  every  man  carefully,  more  for  muscle  and  en 
durance  than  for  intelligence.  Big  Dan  was  a  leader 
among  them,  a  bad  man,  yet  he  controlled  the  others, 
and  father  put  some  confidence  in  him  because  of 


178    A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

that  fact  and  because  he  would  follow  directions  to 
the  exact  letter,  no  matter  what  came  up.  I  think 
he  was  loyal  to  father,  and  father  values  loyalty 
highly." 

"  But  it  must  be  a  very  short  season  in  which  the 
mine  can  be  worked,  if  you  depend  on  the  water 
power  in  the  falls,"  said  Jensen. 

"  Twelve  months  in  the  year,"  returned  Kerry 
Mallabee  with  a  smile.  "  And  with  more  than  seven 
thousand  kilowatts  of  power  that  costs  us  practically 
nothing.  The  falling  water  in  the  turbine  tower 
propels  the  generators,  the  generators  make  elec 
tricity  and  electricity  keeps  the  turbine  tower  always 
warm  so  that  the  falling  water  never  freezes.  Auto 
matic,  you  see.  That  mist  rising  from  the  river 
comes  from  the  warm  water.  We  heat  our  houses, 
cook,  see  and  mine  with  electric  current,  yet  never 
burn  an  ounce  of  coal.  Really  it  is  a  wonderful 
scheme  that  father  has  evolved  for  mining  in  this 
frozen  wilderness." 

"  But  it's  odd  I  never  heard  of  your  father, 
Stephen  Mallabee,  in  the  States  ? "  said  Jensen,  as 
they  began  descending  a  roughly  terraced  trail  that 
led  down  into  Black  Devil's  Bed. 

"  I  think  you  have,"  she  smiled.  "  My  father  is 
Stephen  Mallabee,  Baron  Arbuthnot  and  Lord  Can- 


BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED          179 

nonquest,  former  Premier  of  Canada,  now  retired 
from  active  political  life." 

"  Ye  gods  and  little  fishes !  "  thought  Jensen,  cov 
ered  with  confusion.  "  Xo  wonder  I  gathered  the 
impression  she  was  accustomed  to  the  fine  things  of 
life!" 

Few  names  were  more  familiar  in  the  United 
States  than  that  of  the  "  Ironman  of  Canada,"  Lord 
Cannonquest,  in  succession  poor  miner,  then  railroad 
worker,  railroad  builder,  and  later  Premier  of  the 
Dominion,  yet  Jensen  had  never  known  that  the  gen 
tleman  also  answered  to  the  more  prosaic  name  of 
Stephen  Mallabee.  And  here  he,  an  everyday  Amer 
ican  citizen,  Alan  Jensen,  had  been  hobnobbing  with 
the  daughter  of  a  lord,  treating  her  precisely  as 
though  she  were  merely  the  pretty  sister  of  some 
neighbor  of  his  own  class.  At  first  thought,  he 
could  not  help  drawing  slightly  away  from  Kerry 
Mallabee  as  they  passed  together  down  the  wide  can 
yon,  and  his  face  must  have  given  indication  of  his 
astonishment  and  confusion  at  becoming  aware  of 
her  station  in  life,  for  she  said,  with  a  mellow, 
tinkling  laugh: 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Boy.  We  are  only  l  just  folks,' 
and  you  must  not  think  otherwise.  I  was  educated 
at  Bryn  Mawr  and  have  spent  much  of  my  life  in 


180     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

the  States;  perhaps  that  is  why  I  am  not  always 
thoroughly  in  accord  with  all  father's  British  ideas 
and  notions."  The  smile  left  her  mouth  as  she  ut 
tered  her  last  sentence,  and  the  corners  drooped 
pathetically  into  closer  confirmation  with  her  eyes, 
that  were  always  sad. 

"  But  I  simply  can't  think  of  you  quite  as  I  did 
before,"  he  said.  "  You  are  the  daughter  of  an  Eng 
lish  lord,  instead  of  being  plain  Miss  Mallabee,  as  I 
thought  you." 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  answered,  laughing,  "  if  you  will 
have  it  that  way,  you  may  be  my  knight  errant,  al 
ways  guarding  my  name  and  fulfilling  my  most  high 
commission.  Just  now  that  commission  is  to  make 
my  father  like  you  —  as  I  like  you,  Boy,"  she  added, 
with  a  bewitching  smile. 

Her  words  and  her  smile  banished  the  idea  of  in 
equality  from  Jensen's  mind  as  a  summer  breeze 
scatters  foreboding  clouds.  She  might  be  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  lord;  yet  her  father  had  once  been  a  poor 
man,  and  no  woman  had  ever  shown  less  of  the  arro 
gance  he  usually  associated  with  thoughts  of  the 
nobility. 

"  Then  you  do  like  me  ?  "  he  blurted  out  with  boy 
ish  ardor. 

"  Of  course  I  like  you ;  can  you  suppose  I  would 


BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED  181 

have  enlisted  you  in  this  high  commission  if  I  did 
not  ?  Haven't  I  already  told  you  that  it  is  a  tre 
mendously  important  matter  to  me?  Be  sensible, 
Boy." 

They  had  come  down  into  the  canyon  called  Black 
Devil's  Bed  now,  and  Kerry  Mallabee  stopped  before 
one  of  the  single  log  houses  located  at  a  corner  of  the 
hollow  square. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  opening  the  door  and  turning 
an  electric  switch,  "  are  your  diggings.  It  will  be 
your  home  while  you  remain  with  us.  I  will  send 
Mon  Toy  over  to  you  at  once.  All  our  house  serv 
ants  are  Chinese ;  he  is  very  competent  and  will  look 
out  for  your  needs  during  your  stay  here." 

"  What,  an  entire  cabin  to  myself  ? "  inquired 
Jensen  in  amazement,  as  he  stepped  inside  in  re 
sponse  to  a  wave  of  Kerry  Mallabee's  hand. 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered.  "  We  always  accom 
modate  our  guests  with  a  cabin  to  themselves. 
Father  will  probably  send  for  you  to  dine  with  him 
later.  Come  as  you  are ;  we  seldom  dress  for  dinner. 
Father  will  understand  the  circumstances.  Ours  is 
the  large  bungalow." 

"  By  George,"  thought  Jensen,  as  Kerry  Mallabee 
left  him.  "  I  was  prepared  for  a  surprise  in  Camp 
Argyle,  but  this  surpasses  my  wildest  imagination. 


182     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

I  don't  know  what  to  think ;  it's  as  little  like  a  coun 
terfeiting  plant  as  chalk  is  like  cheese." 

As  the  door  closed  upon  Kerry  Mallabee,  Jensen 
looked  about.  There  was  a  small  but  well  furnished 
sitting-room  with  a  big  fireplace  and  plenty  of  com 
fort-inviting  chairs  clustered  about  it.  Leading  off 
from  this  room  was  a  chamber  with  a  brass  bed. 

He  opened  a  door  that  led  out  from  the  sleeping- 
room.  Wonder  of  wonders,  he  found  himself  in  a 
completely  equipped  bathroom.  A  bath!  It  was 
more  than  six  weeks  since  he  had  turned  his  back 
upon  civilization,  and  the  thought  of  a  full  bath  al 
most  made  him  shout  for  joy. 

He  switched  on  the  tap  marked  "  Hot."  Still 
greater  wonders  came!  It  was  steaming  hot  water 
that  flowed  out.  A  bathroom,  electric  lights,  and 
plenty  of  hot  water  north  of  56° ;  he  could  with 

difficulty  believe  he  was  not  dreaming.     A  snapping 
i 

sound  caught  his  ear.  He  looked  up  quickly ;  in  the 
corner  stood  a  huge  electric  thermal  radiator.  He 
placed  his  hand  upon  it;  it  was  just  beginning  to 
warm  up. 

Jensen  was  soon  splashing  joyfully  about,  luxuri 
ating  in  a  tub  full  of  steaming  water  that  laved  his 
aching  muscles  and  coaxed  every  trace  of  fatigue 
from  them,  when  he  heard  the  outer  cabin  door  open, 


BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED  183 

soft,  padding  footsteps  trotted  toward  his  bathroom 
door,  some  one  knocked  thereon,  and  a  queer  little 
squeaky  voice  cried : 

"  Only  me.  Mon  Toy.  Manchu  boy.  Me 
bringee  you  coat,  tlousers,  socks,  shlirt,  underwear, 
towels.  Alle  lite  ?  " 

Jensen  roared  with  laughter;  clean  wearables 
would  indeed  cap  the  climax  of  comfort  after  that 
bath. 

"All  right,  Mon  Toy,"  he  answered.  "Thank 
you;  toss  them  in." 

A  grinning  yellow  face  twisted  itself  around  the 
edge  of  the  door  as  the  articles  named  were  tossed 
to  a  chair. 

"  You  wantee  rlub  down  ?  Mon  Toy  givee  you 
slap-dash,  bang-bang,  pom-pom.  Squeeze  all  aches 
out  your  skin.  Velly  fine." 

Jensen  came  puffing  like  a  porpoise  from  his  re 
freshing  tub  and  the  Chinaman  proceeded  to  pinch, 
rub,  pound  and  pummel  his  muscle  swathed  form  in 
a  manner  most  thorough.  Dressed  again,  Jensen 
felt  like  a  new  person.  The  clothing  was  serviceable, 
and  it  fitted  fairly  well. 

"  You  come  big  house.  Half  hour.  Dlinner. 
Master  velly  glad  see  you.  His  compliments,"  said 
the  Chinaman  laconically,  as  he  took  his  departure. 


184     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

While  Jensen  had  been  dressing,  Mon  Toy  had 
built  a  crackling  fire  of  huge  logs  in  the  fireplace, 
drawn  a  comfortable  chair,  and  laid  a  freshly  opened 
newspaper  where  it  would  be  warm  to  his  hand  when 
he  took  it  up.  Jensen  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
picked  up  the  newspaper.  It  was  a  several-weeks- 
old  copy  of  the  London  Times.  Jensen  grinned  at 
the  English  of  it. 

As  he  sat  back  musing  beside  the  cheerful  blaze,  it 
struck  him  with  renewed  force  how  unlike  the  quar 
ters  of  a  desperate  counterfeiting  gang  was  this 
Camp  Argyle  with  its  many  comforts.  And  what 
possible  incentive  could  a  man  of  Lord  Cannon- 
quest's  great  wealth  and  prominence  have  for  mixing 
in  such  a  shady  affair  ?  Surely  he  did  not  need  the 
money,  for  his  reputed  fortune  was  something  like 
four  hundred  millions.  Yet  Jensen  was  morally  cer 
tain  that  the  focal  point  of  the  whole  scheme  was 
right  here,  and  he  also  had  an  instinctive  feeling, 
impossible  to  quench,  that  Stephen  Mallabee  was  con 
cerned  in  it.  Certainly  a  pack  of  unlettered  Swedes 
and  Finns  could  not  be  expected  to  plan  and  carry 
out  the  production  of  so  much  gold  coin,  perfect 
enough  to  deceive  the  best  government  experts. 

The  whole  thing  was  as  inexplicable  as  ever,  yet 
it  seemed  certain  he  was  on  the  right  track.  The 


BLACK  DEVIL'S  BED          185 

trail  of  the  coins  had  so  plainly  led  here.  What  he 
would  do  if  matters  turned  out  as  he  expected  and 
came  to  a  crisis  was  a  phase  of  the  situation  that 
Jensen  gave  little  thought  to;  he  knew  it  was  futile 
to  plan  the  details  of  how  to  meet  unknown  condi 
tions  until  they  actually  confronted  him.  If  the 
source  of  this  money  was  really  here,  and  Stephen 
Mallabee  was  making  it,  Jensen  felt  certain  some 
way  would  turn  up  for  him  to  either  return  himself 
or  send  word  back  to  his  chief  in  Washington.  Pos 
sibly  the  wireless  station  high  above  the  camp  might 
offer  a  solution. 

He  still  had  faith  that  even  though  Kerry  Malla- 
bee's  father  might  be  involved  in  the  coining  of  illicit 
United  States  money,  she,  herself,  at  least,  was  not 
entirely  in  sympathy  with  the  scheme.  He  remem 
bered  what  she  had  previously  remarked  about  not 
being  in  accord  with  all  her  father's  ideas,  and  the 
look  of  ineffable  sadness  that  had  overspread  her  face 
when  she  said  it.  That  this  view  might  be,  in  part, 
inspired  by  love  for  the  woman  was  something  Jensen 
failed  to  take  into  account. 

He  arose  to  his  feet  to  leave  the  cabin  and  shook 
back  his  broad  shoulders  as  he  closed  the  door  behind 
him  with  a  feeling  of  keen  joy.  He  was  presently 
to  dine  with  her  father,  and  developments  of  some 


186     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

sort  were  likely  to  occur.  Whatever  came  it  would 
be  action,  and  to  his  sturdy  body,  action,  play  of 
muscle  and  clash  of  wits  was  as  the  very  breath  of 
life. 

The  moon  was  dropping  toward  the  horizon;  yet 
the  myriad  stars  made  the  scene  almost  as  bright  as 
at  noonday.  Over  at  the  bunkhouse  the  miners  were 
holding  some  sort  of  a  celebration,  judging  by  the 
uproarious  sounds  that  came  from  there.  The  more 
pretentious  house  within  the  hollow  square  of  other 
buildings  was  glowing  with  lights  in  all  the  windows. 
He  walked  on  with  a  persistent  feeling  of  puzzled 
wonder  at  the  rare  completeness  of  these  homes, 
located  away  up  here  in  unexplored  Ungava,  without 
anybody  in  the  United  States  being  aware  of  its  ex 
istence,  so  far  as  he  knew,  and  Jensen  was  reasonably 
familiar  with  all  that  was  known  about  this  section 
of  the  world. 

He  strode  up  the  steps  of  this  huge,  flat,  bungalow- 
like  structure  that  was  the  home  of  Stephen  Malla- 
bee,  passed  under  the  wide  verandah,  and  pressed  an 
announcing  button  beside  the  door. 


XIV 

THE    GAUNT,    GEAY    MAN 

IN"  answer  to  Jensen's  ring,  the  door  was  opened 
by  Kerry  Mallabee  herself.  Aside  from  remov 
ing  her  outer  fur  garment  she  had  not  changed  from 
the  clothing  she  wore  when  she  came  to  the  Little 
Babos  camp.  Jensen  could  not  but  think  this  to  be 
an  act  of  kindly  courtesy  to  make  her  expected  vis 
itor  feel  more  at  ease. 

"  Welcome  to  Argyle  House,"  she  cried  cordially, 
as  she  threw  back  the  door.  "  And  do  hurry  in ; 
father  has  been  so  anxious  to  see  you.  He  was  all 
for  trotting  over  to  your  cabin  as  soon  as  I  told  him 
of  the  visitor  I  had  brought;  but  I  persuaded  him 
to  send  Mon  Toy  with  a  change  of  clothing  instead. 
Did  they  fit  ?  "  She  smiled  a  cordial  welcome  and 
gave  him  an  appraising  glance.  "  I  knew  you  and 
father  were  of  much  the  same  build,  although  father 
is  a  bit  slighter,  I  think." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  do  come  in,"  greeted  a  penetrat 
ing  voice  from  the  rear  of  the  entrance  hall.  Jen 
sen  heard  firm  steps  approaching.  Presently  the 


188     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

crimson  hangings  of  a  doorway  were  parted,  and  a 
tall,  gaunt  man  of  some  sixty  odd  years  came  for 
ward  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  My  daughter,  Kerry,  has  told  me  you  are  Alan 
Kerrison  from  the  States,  so  we  may  waive  the  use 
less  formality  of  introductions.  I  am  Stephen  Mal- 
labee  and  glad  to  see  you;  but  sorry  you  bring  such 
sad  news  of  poor  Springvale." 

Jensen  clasped  the  offered  hand,  murmured  some 
words  of  polite  greeting,  and  found  himself  gazing 
into  a  pair  of  penetrating  gray  eyes.  They  appeared 
to  snap  and  glow  like  a  smouldering  blaze  hid  be 
neath  grim,  beetling  cliffs.  Bushy  brows  that  rose 
and  fell  as  Mallabee  spoke  lent  an  inflection  to  every 
sentence  that  no  tone  of  voice  could  have  so  effect 
ively  imparted. 

A  massive,  dome-like  forehead  was  crowned  with 
a  tumbled  mane  of  iron-gray  hair.  The  jaw,  that 
one  instinctively  knew  must  be  square  and  powerful, 
was  concealed  by  a  bushy,  iron-gray  beard,  un- 
trimmed  but  not  unkempt.  The  man  himself  was 
more  than  six  feet  tall,  rather  spare  and  with  a  hint 
of  some  gigantic,  lone  gray  wolf  in  the  supple  move 
ments  of  his  muscles  as  he  walked  and,  as  he  cut  his 
words  sharply,  in  the  snap  of  his  jaws. 

Mallabee's  voice  was  firm  but  pleasant ;  the  whole 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     189 

personality  of  the  man,  despite  his  years,  seemed  to 
radiate  both  an  excess  of  physical  energy  and  a 
super-abundance  of  mental  independence  and  initia 
tive.  As  Jensen  gazed  back  into  those  lambent  gray 
eyes,  he  was  aware  of  a  slight  feeling  of  odd  discom 
fort.  He  couldn't  possibly  have  analyzed  it  then, 
nor  told  why  it  affected  him  as  it  did;  but  it  was 
there.  The  personality  of  the  man,  big,  masterful, 
aggressive,  appealed  to  him  tremendously;  yet  the 
eyes  both  repelled  and  attracted. 

"  Are  you  at  all  related  to  the  Montana  Kerrisons, 
the  gold  mine  people  ? "  asked  Stephen  Mallabee,  as 
they  passed  toward  the  dining-room. 

Jensen  felt  it  would  be  difficult  to  deceive  those 
penetrating  eyes,  and  his  answer  was  truthful,  at 
least  as  far  as  it  went. 

"  I  do  not  think  we  are  connected  with  the  Mon 
tana  Kerrisons  at  all,"  he  answered.  "  They,  I  be 
lieve,  are  of  Scotch  descent;  my  people  are  Connec 
ticut  Yankee." 

They  sat  three  at  the  table.  The  dining-room  was 
finished  in  fumed  oak  with  a  beamed  ceiling,  high 
wood-paneled  walls,  and  dark  green  velvet  hangings 
at  doors  and  windows.  A  veritable  giant  of  a  stone 
fireplace  at  one  side  was  flanked  by  two  Yamuk  totem 
poles  upholding  a  curiously  carved  mantel  of  black 


190     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

wood.  Scattered  about  were  several  more  examples 
of  quaint  Indian  wood-carving, —  tall  figures  of  bird- 
beaked  gods  and  standing  bears,  almost  lifesize. 
The  hanging  beams  of  the  ceiling  were  also  curiously 
wrought  in  Indian  fashion.  The  satiny  fur  skins  of 
a  half  dozen  Kadiak  bears  covered  the  polished  floor. 
Jensen  remembered,  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  room, 
that  a  Thlingit  totem  pole  had  served  for  a  newel 
post  in  the  outer  hall,  and  that  the  dining-room  en 
trance  door  had  one  at  each  side ;  they  gave  the  place 
an  appearance  of  grim,  barbaric  splendor  very  at 
tractive.  The  furniture  showed  rare  artistic  discern 
ment  in  its  selection. 

The  table  candles  were  shaded,  and  the  general 
effect  of  the  apartment  was  dark,  with  Kerry  Malla- 
bee's  head  of  gold  hair,  her  father's  ample  shock  of 
iron-gray,  and  the  blazing  fire  as  spots  of  reflection 
standing  out  and  relieving  an  atmosphere  that  was 
yet  warm  and  mellow  despite  the  lack  of  light  and 
color. 

Stephen  Mallabee  was  anxious  to  hear  the  details 
of  Springvale's  death,  and  Jensen  gave  them  as 
closely  to  truth  as  he  might  without  revealing  any 
thing  of  his  own  mission  into  the  North.  From  re 
marks  made  by  both  Mallabee  and  his  daughter  he 
early  learned  that  Springvale  was  the  same  young 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     191 

man  he  had  known  at  Harvard,  and  this  put  him 
more  at  ease  in  the  ensuing  conversation. 

The  dinner  was  served  by  a  soft-footed  Chinese 
butler.  The  dishes  were  varied,  and  had  he  not 
been  aware  that  the  meal  was  prepared  many  hun 
dred  miles  from  any  adequate  source  of  supplies, 
Jensen  would  have  considered  it  creditable  for  the 
finest  of  metropolitan  hotels. 

Stephen  Mallabee  appeared  anxious  for  exact  news 
regarding  business  and  financial  conditions  in  "  the 
States,"  as  he  called  them,  and  kept  Jensen  pretty 
busy  on  those  subjects  until  the  dinner  was  well  ad 
vanced.  Mallabee  himself  volunteered  little  infor 
mation,  and  Jensen  did  not  yet  feel  sufficiently  ac 
quainted  with  the  "  Ironman  of  Canada  "  to  attempt 
to  draw  him  out. 

Finally  the  talk  veered  again  to  old  J.  J.  Kerrison 
and  his  gold  mines,  a  subject  regarding  which  Malla 
bee  appeared  exceedingly  well  informed. 

"  There's  a  wonderful  pioneer  of  new  fortunes, 
'  old  J.  J.,'  as  you  call  him  in  the  States,"  said 
Stephen  Mallabee,  with  a  sweeping  gesture.  "  A 
man  whom  your  United  States  quite  fails  to  appre 
ciate.  Alaska  would,  to-day,  be  one  of  the  best 
developed  sections  of  this  continent  if  you  had  but 
given  old  J.  J.  a  free  hand.  Instead  you  have  kept 


192     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

him  cribbed,  cabined,  and  confined,  like  an  old  ele 
phant  in  the  zoo,  until  he  has  become  a  rogue,  he 
has  gone  must." 

"  But  he  used  his  money  and  his  power  unscrupu 
lously,"  protested  Jensen.  "  Armed  with  these  he 
attempted  to  practically  buy  a  seat  in  the  United 
States  Senate." 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ? "  retorted  Mallabee,  looking 
up  sharply  with  those  penetrating  eyes.  "  Seats  in 
your  Senate  have  been  sold,  upon  occasion,  haven't 
they?  Such  is  common  report,  anyway.  That 
would  indeed  be  a  small  thing  to  condemn  him  for, 
buying  what  was  put  up  for  sale.  That  is  the  trouble 
with  your  United  States,  you  don't  look  at  things  in 
the  large  way.  You  have  lost  all  the  fine  ideas  of 
empire  you  originally  drank  in  with  your  mothers' 
milk.  You  have  plenty  of  big  men;  but  you  are 
eternally  cramping  them.  As  a  result,  your  horizon 
is  still  small  and  will  always  remain  so,  unless  you 
change  your  narrow  manner  of  looking  upon  matters." 

This  was  spoken  not  in  the  querulous,  patronizing 
tones  of  the  petty  faultfinder;  but  rather  with  the 
hearty  voice  of  a  big  brother  who  desired  to  offer  the 
guiding  help  of  a  more  experienced  hand. 

"  Now,  father,"  chided  Kerry  Mallabee,  with  a 
fond  smile,  "  you  are  beginning,  as  usual,  to  air 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     193 

those  British  ideas  of  yours.  Perhaps  our  visitor 
carries  about  with  him  a  more  comprehensive  dia 
gram  of  his  country's  faults  than  you  do;  but  has 
patriotism  enough  to  keep  it  concealed."  Turning 
to  Jensen,  she  added :  "  You  see,  father  thinks  his 
own  land,  and  especially  that  part  of  it  called  the 
Dominion  of  Canada,  is  such  a  wonderful  country 
that  no  other  can  possibly  equal  it ;  and,  let  me  whis 
per  a  secret  to  you,  his  ears  haven't  yet  ceased  to 
hear  the  echo  of  the  bells  your  ancestors  rang  in  '76. 
He  considers  that  occasion  to  be  your  greatest  er 
ror." 

"  Impertinent  little  pepper-box,"  returned  the 
father,  with  a  chuckle.  "  Kerrison,  you  see  what 
result  comes  from  educating  a  girl  in  the  States. 
Yet  I  don't  know ;  if  she'd  been  educated  at  home,  it 
would  very  likely  be  at  the  head  of  the  militant 
forces  she'd  be  marching  to-night.  To  such  a  de 
cadent  pass  have  the  mothers  of  men  arrived." 
Again  that  sweeping  gesture. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered  the  room, 
Jensen  took  note  of  Stephen  Mallabee's  hands.  They 
were  remarkably  expressive,  well  shaped,  thin,  and 
spatulate;  but  the  skin  was  rough  and  was  discol 
ored  in  places.  They  were  the  hands,  not  of  a  man 
of  leisure,  but  of  a  workingman,  or,  at  least,  of  a 


person  accustomed  to  performing  rough  work  with 
his  hands;  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that. 

With  a  peculiar  thrill  of  having  chanced  upon  an 
important  discovery,  Jensen  glanced  upward  into 
Mallabee's  face,  scrutinizing  it  carefully  and  attempt 
ing  with  some  difficulty  to  call  to  mind  the  photo 
graphs  he  had  seen  of  Lord  Cannonquest.  As  he 
remembered  these  newspaper  pictures,  the  man  had 
worn  a  full  beard  and  had  possessed  a  generous  thatch 
of  hair,  but  whether  the  hair  was  white,  red,  or 
black  he  did  not  know.  In  fact,  he  could  recall  little 
more  than  the  aforementioned  dominant  character 
istics  as  he  mentally  reviewed  the  newspaper  prints 
of  Canada's  former  premier. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  this  man  was  not  Lord 
Cannonquest;  that  Kerry  Mallabee  had  deceived 
him  ?  He  glanced  her  way  to  find  her  eyes  search 
ing  his  face,  a  tiny  smile  wreathing  the  corners  of 
her  mouth.  Somehow  he  knew  that  she  was  aware 
of  what  he  had  been  thinking,  that  she  had  found 
him  making  mental  note  of  her  father's  hands.  Yet 
her  glance  held  no  hint  of  displeasure.  In  his  heart 
he  thought  he  trusted  her,  yet  her  demeanor  was  very 
puzzling. 

Jensen  had  found  little  that  was  informative  in 
the  conversation  so  far,  and  during  a  lull,  as  the 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     195 

Chinese  servant  brought  in  a  copper  coffee-urn  and 
placed  it  before  Miss  Mallabee  that  she  might  serve 
the  drink,  he  attempted  to  turn  the  talk  into  chan 
nels  that  might  lead  to  something  helpful  regarding 
Case  BM432. 

"  You  are  justified  in  thinking  Canada  a  wonder 
ful  country/'  he  declared  to  Mallabee.  "  Just  how 
wonderful  we  in  the  States  scarcely  realized,  for  we 
supposed  the  northern  portion  of  Ungava  to  be  an 
unexplored  and  barren  waste,  useless  for  any  pur 
pose,  and  here  you  are  conducting  one  of  the  best 
equipped  mines  in  the  world.  I  take  it  you  have  few 
visitors,  or  we  should  have  heard  about  it  before  ? " 

The  gaunt  old  man  chuckled,  and  again  Jensen 
was  aware  of  that  uncomfortable  feeling  as  Stephen 
Mallabee's  eyes  met  his.  The  good-natured  chuckle 
seemed  oddly  at  variance  with  the  glance  of  his 
eyes. 

"  We  have  no  visitors,"  he  declared,  "  save  those 
we  bring  in  ourselves,  and  we  choose  such  carefully. 
Should  unwelcome  visitors  discover  us  by  accident, 
they  could  not  return  save  at  our  pleasure." 

The  last  sentence  struck  upon  Jensen's  mind  with 
the  physical  shock  of  a  dash  of  icy  water.  He  looked 
sharply  toward  Kerry  Mallabee,  who  was  pouring  the 
coffee,  as  he  said: 


196     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Then  I  could  not  return  to  the  United  States 
unless  you  were  willing  for  me  to  ?  " 

It  was  she  who  answered;  yet  Jensen  felt  those 
eyes  of  Stephen  Mallabee's  studying  his  face  intently 
as  Kerry  Mallabee  spoke. 

"  You  would  find  it  extremely  difficult,  if  not  im 
possible,"  she  said.  "  First,  you'd  need  an  outfit, 
then  you'd  need  a  guide.  These  things  are  all  ours 
to  command.  If  we  felt  very  bitter  against  you, 
Boy,  we  might  refuse  them;  but  you  may  rest  as 
sured  that  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  treating  our 
invited  guests  in  that  manner." 

Her  soft  utterance  of  the  endearing  title  she  had 
bestowed  on  him  took  all  the  sting  from  her  speech ; 
yet  the  information  she  had  given  him  persisted  in 
Jensen's  mind  long  afterward  and  was  very  disquiet 
ing. 

"  How  do  your  people  feel  toward  annexation  ? " 
inquired  Mallabee.  "  I  mean  the  ordinary  run  of 
people,  not  your  politicians.  I  know  well  enough 
how  the  latter  feel  toward  it." 

"  I  think  that  our  people  in  general  would  be  glad 
to  see  Canada  annexed,"  answered  Jensen.  "  If 
Canada  were  willing,"  he  added,  "  which  I  doubt  if 
she  ever  will  be." 

Mallabee  broke  into  a  laugh  that  jarred  on  Jen- 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     197 

sen's  ears.  "  I  see  you  misconstrue  my  question,  as 
does  about  everybody  in  the  States  to  whom  I  have 
ever  put  it.  What  I  meant  to  ask  was :  How  would 
your  people  look  upon  the  prospect  of  being  annexed 
to  Canada  ? " 

The  lambent  eyes  looked  Jensen's  way  with  a  most 
penetrating  and  puzzling  stare.  The  idea  Mallabee 
had  expressed  was  so  revolutionary  that  Jensen  could, 
for  a  moment,  scarcely  collect  his  thoughts  to  form 
an  answer. 

"  I  don't  think  they  have  ever  even  considered 
that,"  he  finally  said,  as  he  took  a  sip  of  his  coffee 
and  noted  that  it  was  Yarguli,  "  but  if  they  should, 
I  am  certain  they  would  be  against  it  to  a  unit. 
That  would  be  like  a  child  adopting  a  parent." 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  Mallabee  quickly. 
"  Rather  like  a  lost  child  returning  penitent  to  its 
proper  parent." 

"  Now,  father,"  chided  Kerry  Mallabee,  who  saw 
Jensen  flush  patriotically  at  this  way  of  putting  the 
case,  "  let  us  drop  politics  for  the  remainder  of  the 
evening.  If  we  continue  in  this  manner,  you  and 
Mr.  Alan  Kerrison  will  soon  be  quarreling.  To-mor 
row  you  shall — "  she  cut  her  sentence  and  arose 
from  her  chair  with  a  look  of  sudden  fright  over 
shadowing  her  face. 


198     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

There  had  suddenly  come  the  noise  of  many  feet 
on  the  verandah  outside,  the  sound  of  some  one 
pounding  on  the  front  entrance,  and  the  stifled  whin 
ing  of  a  dog.  The  Chinese  butler  who  had  been 
standing  deferentially  at  one  side  started  toward  the 
door,  then  quickly  turned  milky  white  in  color  and 
began  to  shake  all  over  as  hoarse  shouts  were  heard 
crying  for  "  the  big  boss,"  and  the  blows  on  the  door 
were  renewed  with  increased  vigor. 

Jensen  glanced  from  father  to  daughter  in  amaze 
ment,  wondering  what  this  turn  of  affairs  could  pos 
sibly  mean. 

"  It's  those  thrice  damned  Swedes,"  declared 
Stephen  Mallabee  explosively.  "  What  the  devil  can 
they  have  got  in  their  gizzards  now?  They've 
seemed  ready  to  boil  over  ever  since  Big  Dan  left. 
Gave  them  a  half  holiday  to-day,  because  a  dynamo 
broke  down,  and  the  cook  served  out  grog  with  their 
supper.  I  suppose  the  fool  let  them  have  too  much, 
and  they  are  drunk  in  consequence."  Then  he  added, 
as  he  waved  away  the  Chinese  servant :  "  Ah  Long, 
you  trottee  kitchen,  chop,  chop.  I'll  go  door  my 
self." 

The  thoroughly  scared  Chinaman,  glad  to  be  re 
lieved  of  an  unpleasant  duty,  scurried  out  of  the 
room,  and  the  master  of  Argyle  House  strode  toward 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     199 

the  door,  reviling  the  entire  nation  of  Swedes  and 
Finns  in  a  growling  undertone.  Jensen  and  Kerry 
Mallabee  arose  from  their  seats  at  the  table  and  fol 
lowed  him. 

Stephen  Mallabee  threw  back  the  bolt  and  stood 
with  his  six-feet-six  of  gaunt  body  in  the  center  of 
the  entrance  to  their  home  as  he  shouted : 

"  You  damned  blackguards !  What  do  you  mean 
by  banging  on  my  door  at  this  hour  of  the  night  ?  " 

Jensen  could  see  twenty  or  thirty  roughly  dressed 
men  clustered  about  on  the  verandah.  One  of  these 
men  was  leading  Peter  Saint's  dog  by  a  rope,  and  he 
noticed  that  a  twist  had  been  taken  about  Babe's  nose 
so  that  she  could  only  struggle  and  whimper.  He 
wondered  where  Peter  Saint  himself  could  be. 

A  raw-boned  hulk  of  a  man  with  drooping,  walrus- 
like  moustache  and  a  vast  shock  of  sun-bleached  hair 
crowded  into  a  wool  cap  several  sizes  too  small  for 
him,  stepped  forward  from  the  crowd  and  spoke. 

"  Das  dog  here,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  struggling 
Babe,  "  ban  kill  our  bast  men,  Dan  Larsen,  at  Little 
Babos.  Ah  tank  we  ban  hang  her  op  to  pole  for 
murder;  but  das  here  Pete  Saint,  he  say  we  skall 
hang  him  instead.  Ay  tank  that  ban  pretty  good 
bargain,"  added  the  Swede  gravely  and  slowly  with 
out  a  hint  of  a  smile,  "  but  some  these  mens  say  we 


200     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

skall  ask  big  boss  first."  Two  gigantic  fellows 
stepped  forward  from  the  center  of  the  throng  con 
ducting  Peter  Saint  between  them. 

"  Ay  tank  one  dog  worth  'bout  two  kanuks,  so  we 
bas  hang  Pete  Saint  and  keep  dog,"  added  he  of 
the  drooping  moustache.  "What  you  tank,  big 
boss?" 

For  his  answer  Stephen  Mallabee  gave  vent  to  a 
bellowing  roar  as  he  dashed  among  them,  striking  out 
right  and  left. 

"  Loose  that  dog,  you  pigeon-brained  larrikins, 
and  take  your  hands  off  Peter  Saint,"  he  cried. 
Some  forty  of  the  man's  sixty  odd  years  seemed  to 
have  sloughed  from  his  shoulders  as  he  dealt  telling 
blows  among  the  Swedes.  Before  they  had  a  chance 
to  gather  their  dull  wits  into  either  individual  or 
concerted  action,  he  was  back  inside,  dragging  Babe 
by  her  rope  and  leading  Peter  Saint  by  one  arm. 
Then  he  turned  again  upon  the  growling  pack  of 
miners  and  with  a  world  of  scorn  in  his  voice 
cried : 

"  Get  back  to  your  bunkhouse,  every  man  jack  of 
you,  or  I'll  put  you  on  half  rations  for  a  month. 
Malamutes!  If  you  ever  had  one  sensible  idea  in 
your  brains,  it  would  overbalance  your  bodies  so 
badly  that  you  couldn't  walk." 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     201 

The  Swedes  fell  back  sullenly  beneath  the  old 
man's  tirade,  and  he  began  shooing  them  away  as  he 
might  have  shooed  a  flock  of  sheep. 

Jensen  had  started  to  rush  to  Stephen  Mallabee's 
side  the  instant  he  saw  him  strike  out  among  the 
Swedes ;  but  the  daughter  held  him  back. 

"  Don't  mix  in,"  she  said.  "  I  think  father  can 
handle  them ;  he  is  used  to  it,  and  they  fear  him  too 
much  to  raise  a  hand.  Sometimes  he  beats  them  with 
a  dog  whip,  when  they  are  bad,  and  they  never  resent 
it.  They  expect  such  treatment;  it's  the  only  way 
to  keep  them  in  line." 

Upon  this  occasion,  probably  because  of  the  squir 
rel  whiskey  they  had  drunk,  the  Swedes  did  not  prove 
as  tractable  as  usual.  They  moved  no  farther  than 
off  the  verandah,  where  they  stood  talking  among 
themselves  in  Swedish.  Finally  the  shock-headed 
spokesman  stepped  forward  again  and  said: 

"Ay  tank  we  skall  have  Pete  Saint  or  his  dog," 
he  insisted  stubbornly.  "  Murder  ban  done ;  some 
body  skall  hang.  Ay  tank  you  bas  send  out  Pete 
Saint  or  das  dog." 

Stephen  Mallabee  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
rage. 

"  You  can  have  neither  the  man  nor  his  dog,"  he 
shouted.  "  If  you  don't  get  back  to  your  bunkhouse 


202     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

within  two  minutes,  I'll  have  you  strung  up  by  the 
thumbs." 

"  Yas,  big  boss,  Ay  tank  you  mean  keep  das  word ; 
but  who  skall  do  das  stringing  oop  ?  " 

The  stolid  Swede  spoke  slowly  and  in  a  dull  mono 
tone.  He  seemed  about  as  easy  to  move  as  a  ten-ton 
granite  boulder. 

"  Who  ?  "  barked  Stephen  Mallabee,  trying  hard 
to  control  himself  and  to  be  patient  with  this  dull- 
witted  man.  "  The  mine  boss.  He'll  make  you 
dance  for  this.  Don't  you  know  he  has  guns  enough 
in  the  power-house  to  mow  you  all  down  like  wheat, 
if  you  don't  toe  the  mark  ?  " 

"  Yas,"  droned  the  Swede.  "  We  skall  remember 
all  das;  but  we  got  cookie,  mine  boss,  engineer,  and 
electrician  locked  up  in  cement  power-house.  They 
say  we  skall  not  hang  Pete  Saint,  so  we  take  all  das 
guns  over  to  bunkhouse  and  lock  up  mine  boss  and 
das  other  men." 

"  What !  "  shrilled  Stephen  Mallabee  in  a  roaring 
crescendo.  "  This  is  mutiny !  I'll  have  you  all 
hung  for  it." 

"  Mabbe  so,"  stubbornly  returned  the  Swede  in  his 
dull  monotone.  "  But  we  ban  shoot  up  place  a  little, 
first." 

Several  of  his  comrades  stepped  forward,  draw- 


THE  GAUNT,  GRAY  MAN     203 

ing  guns  from  beneath  their  mackinaws  as  they 
came. 

"  Ay  tank  you  bas  send  out  Pete  Saint  or  das  dog ; 
then  we  go  back  to  bunkhouse,"  said  the  Swede,  still 
without  raising  his  voice. 

Stephen  Mallabee  appeared  to  be  as  little  cowed 
by  the  miners'  display  of  arms  as  he  had  been  by  their 
importunate  demands.  For  a  dozen  years  he  had 
employed  their  sort,  had  ruled  them  with  a  rod  of 
iron.  In  his  eyes  they  were  little  more  than  brain 
less  beasts,  and  so  he  treated  them. 

With  a  shouted  order  to  "  Drop  those  guns !  "  he 
advanced  toward  the  muttering  miners,  evidently  in 
tending  to  remove  the  weapons  by  force  if  his  demand 
were  not  instantly  obeyed.  But  this  proved  to  be 
one  occasion  when  his  beasts  were  not  in  a  mood  to 
obey  the  crack  of  their  trainer's  whip.  They  had 
lost  their  leader,  big  Dan  Larsen,  and  the  sole  idea, 
stolidly  implanted  in  their  stubborn,  unreasoning 
brains,  was  that  some  one  should  hang  for  it.  It 
was  their  custom  to  hang  animals  for  murder  the 
same  as  humans,  so  why  not  in  this  case  ? 

As  Stephen  Mallabee  stepped  forward,  the  men 
with  guns  took  aim.  Even  then  it  is  probable  he 
would  have  kept  on  had  not  the  sounder  sense  of  his 
daughter  prevailed. 


204     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

With  a  cry  of  "  Father,  are  you  crazy  ? "  she 
grasped  his  arm  and  led  him  back,  protesting,  inside 
the  house. 


XV 

AN    ADVENTUBE    IN    THE    NIGHT 

"T  Ti  TELL,  what's  to  be  done?"  asked  Stephen 
T  V  Mallabee,  as  his  daughter  snapped  the 
bolt  on  the  door  and  led  her  unwilling  father  back 
into  the  dining  apartment.  "  You  don't  suppose  I 
am  going  to  allow  those  thrice  damned  hooligans  to 
run  my  camp  according  to  their  own  sweet  wills,  do 
you,  Kerry  ? "  he  asked,  storming  back  and  forth 
before  the  fireplace,  while  Babe  trotted  by  his  side 
as  if  she  knew  it  was  he  who  had  recently  rescued 
her  from  the  rope  of  the  Swedes. 

"  I  don't  see  what  else  you  are  going  to  do,  father, 
for  the  present,  at  least,"  she  answered.  "  Here  we 
are  in  the  house  without  so  much  as  a  pop-gun  to 
defend  ourselves,  while  they  appear  to  be  well  armed. 
You  see  now,"  she  added  chidingly,  "  how  foolish  it 
was  to  think  those  beasts  would  always  remain  under 
control." 

"  I  wonder  if  they  have  got  Evans,  Pettyjohn, 
Truesdale,  and  the  cook  cooped  up  in  the  power 
house  ? "  said  Stephen  Mallabee,  as  he  took  down  the 


206     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

transmitter  of  an  inter-communicating  telephone  that 
should  have  put  him  in  connection  with  the  power 
building  at  the  foot  of  the  falls.  There  was  no  re 
sponse  to  his  repeated  ringing. 

"  The  malamutes !  "  he  raged,  as  no  reply  came  to 
his  continued  pressings  of  the  ivory  tipped  button. 
"  They've  cut  the  wires !  But  the  men  must  be 
there,"  he  added,  pointing  a  thin,  bony  finger  at  the 
electric  cluster  hanging  above  the  dining-table. 
"  Our  lights  are  still  burning." 

A  heavy  tread  of  feet  could  be  heard  pacing  about 
the  house  on  the  verandah.  Stephen  Mallabee  drew 
aside  the  hangings  of  one  of  the  windows  and  glanced 
out. 

A  half  dozen  or  more  of  the  Swedes,  armed  with 
guns,  were  doing  sentry-go  along  the  piazza  in  regular 
order. 

"  Served  their  time  in  the  army,  every  manjack  of 
them,"  said  Mallabee  laconically.  "  They  know 
just  what  to  do,  for  all  their  denseness." 

The  Swedes'  former  spokesman,  he  of  the  shock 
hair  and  the  drooping  moustache,  stepped  close  out 
side  the  window  to  where  Stephen  Mallabee  stood 
looking  outward.  The  lights  of  the  dining  apart 
ment  lit  up  his  yellow,  square-cut  features,  as  ex 
pressionless  as  if  hewn  from  a  block  of  oak. 


ADVENTURE  IN  THE  NIGHT     207 

"  When  you  ban  rady,  big  Boss,  to  send  out  das 
Pete  Saint  or  das  dog,  you  skall  say  so,"  he  shouted. 
"  Until  then  all  you  bas  stay  inside,  or  we  ban  shoot 
up  place.  Ay  don't  Engelsk  sprdk  goot,  but  you 
ban  understan',  huh  ? "  he  added,  with  an  ugly 
grunt. 

Stephen  Mallabee  shook  his  fist  toward  the  stolid 
face  staring  in  at  him,  drew  the  hangings  together 
again  and  snapped  an  electric  button  that  turned  on 
a  row  of  lights  along  the  center  of  the  verandah  roof 
outside.  Dense  as  the  Swedes  were,  they  seemed  to 
have  wit  enough  to  go  to  each  one  of  these  incan- 
descents  and  smash  it  with  the  butt  of  their  guns; 
thus  leaving  themselves  in  partial  darkness  while 
they  could  see  much  that  went  on  inside. 

"  Mr.  Kerrison,"  said  Mallabee,  turning  toward 
Jensen,  "  I  fear  this  will  prove  to  be  rather  a  pro 
tracted  dinner  to  which  we  have  invited  you,  since 
it  will  be  unsafe  for  you  to  leave  while  those  addle- 
pated  asses  hold  us  in  a  state  of  siege.  Happily, 
however,  we  can  accommodate  you  nicely  for  the 
night,  and  perhaps  longer,  for  I  have  no  idea  of 
turning  over  either  my  good  friend  Peter  Saint  or 
his  dog  Babe  into  their  merciful  hands." 

"  If  the  M'sieu  ordairs,  I  shall  go  out,"  declared 
Peter  Saint  earnestly.  "  I  theenk  we  can  geeve 


them  wan  good  fight,  my  Baby,  eh,  what?  They 
catch  us  both  asleep  bafore,  Sin  Petair  and  hees 
Baby,  or  we  geeve  them  wan  hot  tarn  then,  eh,  what, 
my  sugar-plum  ? " 

"  Don't  talk  piffle,  Peter  Saint,"  growled  Stephen 
Mallabee,  patting  the  habitan  fondly  on  the  shoulder. 
"  They  may  patrol  Argyle  House  until  their  feet 
wear  off,  but  they  shall  never  have  either  you  or 
Babe.  They've  drunk  too  much  whiskey;  they'll 
have  cooler  heads  in  the  morning,  and  the  wisest 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  all  go  off  to  bed  and  rest  easy 
until  then." 

This  nonchalant  way  of  taking  what  seemed  to 
Jensen  to  be  a  pretty  serious  matter  rather  surprised 
him. 

"  Would  it  not  be  a  good  plan  for  Peter  Saint, 
Babe,  and  me  to  remain  up  and  see  that  the  Swedes 
don't  break  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Break  in  ?  "  repeated  Stephen  Mallabee,  with  a 
laugh.  "  If  I  were  to  open  wide  every  door,  invite 
them  to  enter  freely  and  take  out  Peter  Saint,  there 
isn't  a  man  jack  in  the  crowd  that  would  dare  set  his 
foot  over  the  sill.  They  are  packed  as  full  of  super 
stition  as  an  egg  with  meat ;  they  call  Argyle  House 
'  the  home  of  a  thousand  devils/  and  think  these 
highly  artistic  totem  poles  you  see  scattered  about 


ADVENTURE  IN  THE  NIGHT     209 

were  all  carved  in  Sheol.  Your  Scandinavian  peas 
ant  is  not  ordinarily  an  imaginative  beast ;  but  when 
he  does  get  hold  of  an  idea,  uncanny  or  otherwise, 
it  lays  in  his  brain  and  ferments  like  decayed  fruit 
until  it  is  about  all  there  is  there." 

Stephen  Mallabee  appeared  to  have  calmed  down 
considerably  since  he  had  fairly  caught  the  drift  of 
conditions.  Jensen's  face  must  have  indicated  that 
he  took  matters  more  seriously  than  did  the  residents 
of  Argyle  House,  for  Kerry  Mallabee  was  quick  to 
explain  to  him. 

"  Father  is  accustomed  to  battling  with  rebellious 
miners ;  he's  been  doing  it  for  many  years.  I  really 
think  he  rather  enjoys  it.  Things  will  probably 
appear  vastly  different  by  daylight,  as  he  says,  and 
the  wisest  move  for  us  all  at  present  is  to  retire  and 
wait  'til  then.  I'll  have  Mon  Toy  show  you  your 
chamber,"  she  added,  as  she  pressed  an  ivory  button 
beside  the  door. 

The  celestial  was  somewhat  tardy  in  his  response 
to  her  call.  Finally  he  entered  with  a  wabbly  walk 
and  with  features  contorted  into  a  look  that  gave  him 
the  appearance  of  expecting  to  meet  the  chief  head- 
chopper  at  any  moment. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Mon  Toy,"  said  Kerry  Mal 
labee  reassuringly.  "  There  is  little  danger  of  any 


210     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

one  being  harmed;  it's  only  those  miners  having 
another  little  drunken  celebration." 

She  scorned  to  talk  silly  pidgin-English  to  them, 
yet  the  Chinese  servants  appeared  to  understand  her 
quite  as  well  as  they  did  her  father,  who  always  made 
use  of  it. 

Mon  Toy's  face  broke  into  a  queer  three-cor 
nered  grin.  "  Allelite,"  he  said  good-naturedly. 
"  Me  no  flaid ;  but  Ah  Long,  butler,  he  slay  Swede 
boys  come  chop,  chop,  klill  evybody.  Only  dlunk, 
eh.  Huh,  me  no  care,  get  dlunk  myself  one  piece 
time,  pleraps." 

The  cheerful  optimism  of  the  Chinaman  did  much 
to  relieve  the  tenseness  of  the  uncomfortable  situa 
tion,  and  after  a  few  polite  words  of  thanks  to  Malla- 
bee  and  his  daughter  for  their  hospitality  and  ex 
cuses  for  trespassing  upon  it,  Jensen  followed  Mon 
Toy  to  the  east  side  of  the  bungalow  where  his  sleep 
ing  room  was  located. 

He  did  not  really  understand  this  new  turn  of 
affairs;  neither  could  he  see  what  bearing  it  might 
have  on  his  own  mission,  yet  he  knew  that  he  must 
remain  with  the  Mallabees. 

Jensen  found  the  room  to  which  the  Chinaman 
showed  him  to  be  a  comfortably  furnished  chamber 
with  an  inviting  bed  and  plenty  of  down  quilts. 


ADVENTURE  IN  THE  NIGHT     211 

There  was  an  electric  thermal  radiator  in  one  cor 
ner,  and  the  room  was  pleasantly  warm. 

Being  thoroughly  tired  from  the  long  day's  travel 
after  his  period  of  illness,  Jensen  undressed  at  once, 
tipped  off  the  lights,  and  got  into  bed.  He  found  it 
difficult,  however,  to  compose  his  mind  for  sleep. 
For  one  thing  the  steady  tramp,  tramp  of  the  miners 
doing  sentry-go  around  the  piazza  was  a  constantly 
disturbing  sound.  Then,  too,  the  thought  persist 
ently  obtruded  that  he  was  not  getting  on  as  rapidly 
in  unraveling  Case  BM432  as  he  ought.  True,  the 
situation  did  not  permit  of  forcing  matters.  Alone, 
as  he  was,  so  far  from  his  own  country  and  in  the 
home  of  one  of  the  most  wealthy  and  powerful  men 
in  Canada,  he  could  do  nothing  but  wait  for  events 
to  shape  themselves.  Yet,  boylike,  he  was  impa 
tient,  eager  to  accomplish  something,  and  the  desire 
drove  sleep  from  his  eyes. 

So  restless  did  Jensen  finally  become  that  he  arose 
and  dressed  again  in  the  dark,  thinking  he  might  be 
more  comfortable  moving  about  than  tossing  and 
turning  on  his  bed  in  the  heated  room. 

He  stepped  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  One 
of  the  miners,  wearing  a  blue  plaid  mackinaw  and 
carrying  his  gun  in  prim  soldier  fashion,  was  just 
striding  past  the  window,  his  heavy  feet  clumping 


212     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

down  upon  the  verandah  with  a  hollow,  ringing  sound 
that  cut  the  clear,  cold  air  like  blows  of  a  mallet  upon 
a  barrel.  Listening,  Jensen  followed  the  man's 
movements. 

He  took  some  twenty  paces  to  the  south,  met  a 
comrade  there,  turned  back,  passed  Jensen's  east 
room,  met  a  comrade  from  the  north  side,  and  then 
reversed  his  march  again,  going  toward  the  south. 
He  was  a  rather  rapid  walker,  and  Jensen  noted  that 
he  was  often  obliged  to  wait  a  moment  or  two  at  the 
north  corner  before  the  man  pacing  the  north  side 
came  up.  This  other  fellow,  whose  footsteps  Jensen 
could  clearly  hear,  was  a  man  with  a  slight  limp  and 
a  slow  walker. 

As  he  of  the  blue  plaid  mackinaw  passed  Jensen's 
window,  Jensen  raised  the  sash  very  softly  and 
slowly  and  stuck  out  his  head  a  little  way.  In  meet 
ing  his  comrade  from  the  north  side  of  the  bungalow, 
the  man  in  the  blue  plaid  mackinaw  stepped  around 
the  corner  for  two  paces  or  so,  awaiting  the  fellow 
with  the  limp.  During  this  brief  space  of  time,  the 
east  side  of  the  bungalow  was  left  unpatrolled  for 
perhaps  thirty  seconds.  Jensen  wondered  if  he 
might  pass  from  his  window  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
verandah  in  that  thirty  seconds.  The  verandah  was 
raised  some  two  feet  from  the  ground,  and  if  he 


ADVENTURE  IN  THE  NIGHT     213 

could  make  the  outer  edge,  drop  over,  and  crawl 
along  in  the  dark  shadow,  he  thought  he  might  pos 
sibly  get  to  the  power-house  and  free  the  men  con 
fined  there.  Anyway,  if  he  were  unable  to  get  to 
them  by  this  means,  he  could  at  least  come  back 
again  to  his  chamber  in  the  same  way  he  would  leave 
it.  The  adventure  appeared  inviting;  he  resolved 
to  attempt  it. 

Just  after  blue  mackinaw  had  again  passed  his 
window,  Jensen  raised  the  sash  softly  to  its  full 
height,  stepped  out,  closed  it  still  as  softly  behind 
him,  and  stood  in  the  darkness,  flat  against  the 
brown-walled  bungalow,  until  blue  mackinaw  turned 
the  corner  toward  the  north.  With  blue  mackinaw 
safely  around  the  corner,  Jensen  scuttled  across  and 
dropped  over  the  outer  edge  of  the  verandah,  lying 
close  under  the  overhang  of  the  floor.  Blue  mackinaw 
came  clumping  back  toward  the  south,  apparently 
quite  unsuspicious  of  anything  out  of  the  common 
order  having  transpired  in  his  vicinity. 

With  blue  mackinaw  marching  south,  Jensen 
slowly  squirmed  along  beneath  the  shadow  cast  by 
the  overhang  of  the  verandah  floor  until  he  gained 
the  north  side  of  the  bungalow.  Here  he  of  the 
limp  was  patrolling  effectively,  and  nothing  offered 
shelter  for  Jensen  to  get  away  from  the  bungalow 


214     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

without  risking  the  danger  of  being  shot  at  from 
short  range.  He  could  see  the  power-house  some  dis 
tance  off  to  the  northeast  and  could  catch  the  steady 
hum  of  the  generators.  Not  far  from  the  power 
house,  off  a  little  to  the  east,  was  a  long  bunkhouse. 
In  order  to  gain  the  power-house,  he  must  pass  close 
to  the  bunkhouse,  unless  he  were  to  make  a  consid 
erable  detour  to  the  west. 

Suddenly,  as  he  lay  there  looking  toward  the  lights 
of  the  power-house  and  waiting  for  the  man  doing 
sentry-go  on  that  side  to  turn  his  back,  he  saw  three 
men  leave  the  bunkhouse  and  come  running  toward 
the  bungalow.  This  was  a  condition  Jensen  had  not 
counted  on,  and  he  began  to  crawl  backward  in  the 
shadow  toward  the  east  side  of  the  bungalow  and  his 
chamber.  But  the  men  were  approaching  rapidly, 
while  he  was  obliged  to  either  move  very  slowly  or  to 
stand  up  where  his  form  would  be  quickly  visible  to 
them.  He  saw  he  could  not  make  the  shelter  of  the 
east  side  before  the  three  men  running  toward  him 
would  be  so  close  that  even  a  crawling  form  could  not 
escape  their  attention.  One  of  the  men  now  began 
to  wave  his  hands  and  shout  loudly  in  Swedish.  Jen 
sen  took  this  to  mean  the  approaching  men  had  al 
ready  seen  him. 

He  was  crouched  low,  ready  to  spring  and  make  a 


ADVENTURE  IN  THE  NIGHT     215 

fight  for  it  the  instant  they  came  within  striking  dis 
tance,  his  back  braced  against  the  underpinning  of 
the  bungalow  verandah,  when  suddenly  he  felt  some 
thing  give  way  behind  him,  and  he  was  precipitated 
backward.  He  had  been  leaning  against  a  long, 
barred  basement  window  fastened  with  hinges  at  the 
top,  and  this  window  had  swung  inward.  He  tried 
to  catch  at  the  sides  of  the  window-frame  as  he  fell, 
but  they  slipped  away  from  his  fingers  and  he  hurtled 
backward,  turning  a  complete  somersault  and  coming 
down  upon  all  fours  on  a  cement  floor. 

For  an  instant  Jensen  was  too  dazed  to  think,  then 
he  recovered  himself,  stood  up,  and  looked  out  at  the 
swinging  window  where  he  had  fallen  through.  The 
three  men  were  not  in  sight  anywhere.  Above  his 
head  he  could  hear  the  tramp  of  the  man  with  the 
limp.  It  seemed  that  none  of  the  besieging  miners 
had  been  aware  of  Jensen's  presence  in  the  vicinity, 
after  all. 

There  was  but  a  single  window  in  the  basement 
room  where  Jensen  had  fallen,  and  it  did  not  afford 
sufficient  light  for  him  to  make  out  where  he  was. 
He  found  a  match  in  his  pocket,  struck  it,  looked 
about,  then  dropped  the  burning  match  from  shaky 
fingers  and  fairly  gasped  with  astonishment. 

The  dim  rays  of  light  shining  from  the  match  held 


216     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

shakily  aloft  showed  him  that  the  room  into  which 
he  had  fallen  was  filled  with  ponderous  machinery, 
the  nature  of  which  there  could  be  no  mistaking. 


XVI 

A  DISCOVERY! 

MOVING  about  as  quietly  as  possible,  Jensen 
struck  match  after  match  and  inspected  the 
basement  room  where  he  had  found  himself.  The 
room  was  some  fifteen  by  thirty  feet  and  extended 
underneath  the  entire  north  side  of  Argyle  House. 
The  floor  beneath  his  feet  was  of  solidly  packed 
cement,  and  scattered  about  were  half  a  dozen  or 
more  machines,  each  one  with  an  individual  motor. 
Drop  lights  hung  in  rows  above  the  machines,  but 
Jensen  did  not  dare  turn  them  on. 

There  was  a  huge  melting  furnace;  a  ponderous 
cutting  machine  in  which  was  a  fillet  of  the  white 
"  ithite "  half  run  through,  and  below  this  a  box 
nearly  full  of  round  white  discs  about  the  size  of  half 
eagles.  There  was  also  a  die-stamping  machine,  a 
machine  for  milling  edges,  and  an  automatic  balance 
for  adjusting  weights  to  the  smallest  fraction  of  a 
grain.  Strewed  about  on  a  bench  were  several  hand- 
fuls  of  the  white  "  ithite "  blanks,  a  few  already 
stamped  with  the  design  of  the  double  eagle  and 


218     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

milled,  and  a  smaller  number  that  had  already  re 
ceived  their  coating  of  gold.  It  was  evident  to  Jen 
sen  that  only  the  "  ithite  "  portion  of  the  coins  was 
turned  out  here;  the  outer  covering  of  gold  was  put 
on  somewhere  else. 

The  discovery  filled  Jensen's  mind  with  amaze 
ment  and  elation,  yet  his  heart  sank  with  dismay. 
The  completeness  of  the  plant,  the  ideal  location, 
hundreds  of  miles  from  any  ordinary  danger  of  dis 
covery,  at  the  very  doorway  of  the  needed  "  ithite  " 
supply,  amazed  him.  The  thought  that  he,  a  recruit 
in  the  Secret  Service,  had  made  this  tremendously 
important  discovery  elated  him,  yet  his  elation  had 
its  thorn,  for  here  he  stood  surrounded  by  proof  be 
yond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  it  was  Stephen  Mal- 
labee,  Kerry  Mallabee's  father,  Lord  Cannonquest  — 
if  the  man  really  were  the  "  Ironman  of  Canada  " — 
who  was  at  the  head  of  this  vastly  clever  counterfeit 
ing  scheme.  It  was  he  who  had  flooded  the  United 
States  with  millions  of  dollars'  worth  of  coins  so 
perfect  they  would  have  fooled  the  experts  of  the 
United  States  mint  itself.  This  criminal  was  Kerry 
Mallabee's  father!  Perhaps  even  she  was  as  deep 
in  this  scheme  as  her  parent,  she  whom  he  could  no 
longer  deny  that  he  loved  more  than  life  itself. 

Jensen  permitted  his  match  to  flicker  down  until 


A  DISCOVERY!  219 

it  burned  his  fingers,  as  he  stood  there  studying  the 
situation.  As  far  as  arresting  any  one  was  con 
cerned,  there  was  nothing  he  could  do.  Even  were 
he  armed,  he  could  not  go  to  Stephen  Mallabee,  cover 
him  with  a  gun,  and  take  command  of  the  situation. 
Jensen  was  in  Canada ;  here  he  had  no  official  stand 
ing  whatever.  And  if  Stephen  Mallabee  were  really 
Lord  Cannonquest,  this  affair  was  entirely  a  matter 
for  diplomatic  adjustment  rather  than  for  Secret 
Service  action,  Jensen  knew  that,  knew  it  would  cut 
him  out  of  the  case  entirely. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  incredible  it 
seemed  to  Jensen  that  Stephen  Mallabee  could  really 
be  Lord  Cannonquest.  The  making  of  illicit  money 
could  offer  no  temptation  to  a  person  of  his  vast 
wealth,  the  man  who  had  built  and  owned  the  Ca 
nadian  Coast  to  Coast  Railroad,  one  of  the  most  valu 
able  transportation  properties  in  the  world.  And 
neither  did  Mallabee  appear  to  be  a  person  whom  love 
of  adventure  would  tempt  toward  a  fraudulent  scheme 
of  such  magnitude.  The  man  might  be  insane  on 
the  subject, —  those  peculiar  eyes  were  seldom  out  of 
Jensen's  mind, —  yet  he  talked  as  little  like  a  person 
suffering  from  mania  as  any  one  Jensen  had  ever 
heard  speak.  The  only  plausible  solution  seemed  to 
be  that  the  man  was  not  Lord  Cannonquest,  but  some 


220     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

clever  and  unscrupulous  rascal  masquerading  under 
the  great  premier's  name  and  fame. 

Duty  indicated  but  one  course  for  Jensen  to  follow, 
—  get  back  as  quickly  as  possible  to  his  chief  and  in 
form  him  what  he  had  discovered;  then,  he  thought 
with  a  tinge  of  disappointment,  he  would  be  entirely 
out  of  it.  They  would  probably  set  him  to  sleuthing 
out  some  petty,  mail-order  swindler  and  tell  him  to 
forget  Case  BM432  entirely;  more  seasoned  men 
would  be  put  to  work  on  that. 

Yet  getting  back  to  his  chief  after  the  discovery  he 
had  just  made  meant  the  playing  of  a  deceitful  part 
with  Kerry  Mallabee,  a  part  even  more  distasteful 
than  any  he  had  yet  played,  and  even  the  thought  of 
that  was  a  poignant  hurt.  And  there  was  the  state 
of  siege  that  Argyle  House  was  now  in;  how  would 
that  turn  out ;  he  could  not  even  propose  leaving  be 
fore  that  matter  was  settled. 

He  was  still  loyal  to  his  chief;  he  felt  certain  of 
that,  and  he  must  lose  no  time  in  getting  to  him. 
His  only  hope  was  that  Kerry  Mallabee  was  not  in 
volved  in  her  father's  schemes.  He  had  much  to  go 
on  in  this  hope,  and  he  resolved  to  hold  it  close  to 
his  heart  until  he  should  be  confronted  with  absolute 
evidence  to  the  contrary.  Comforting  himself  with 
this  thought,  Jensen  decided  that  the  best  thing  for 


A  DISCOVERY!  221 

him  to  do  at  this  moment  was  to  regain  his  chamber 
and  so  conduct  himself  in  his  relations  with  Stephen 
Mallabee  and  his  daughter  that  they  should  have  no 
suspicion  of  the  damning  discovery  he  had  just  made. 
Later  he  would  decide  what  to  do  about  the  discovery. 

Having  no  idea  how  the  rooms  of  Argyle  House 
were  laid  out,  and  knowing  that  he  might  wander 
all  over  the  great  building  without  finding  his  cham 
ber  were  he  to  leave  the  basement  room  from  the  in 
side,  Jensen  determined  to  return  by  the  same  way 
he  had  come. 

He  of  the  limp  was  still  patiently  at  his  sentry-go 
on  the  verandah  above.  Jensen  waited  until  the 
patrolling  feet  sounded  to  the  west  corner  and  then 
crawled  back  through  the  window,  crouching  there 
in  the  overhang  of  the  verandah  floor.  Here  he 
waited  again  until  the  Swede  with  the  limp  had 
turned  his  back  and  was  marching  away;  then  he 
proceeded  to  squirm  along  toward  the  east  side  of 
the  bungalow  where  his  chamber  was  located. 

Jensen  finally  gained  the  east  side  of  the  bungalow 
and  met  a  surprise.  Blue  mackinaw  had  been  joined 
by  two  comrades.  They  were  standing  directly  in 
front  of  the  chamber  window  Jensen  had  recently 
left,  arguing  drunkenly  and  vociferously  in  Swedish. 

For  a  moment  Jensen  lay  there,  his  head  just 


222     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

above  the  edge  of  the  verandah  floor,  watching  them. 
The  argument  seemed  somewhat  heated  and 
appeared  as  if  it  might  be  protracted  as  well. 
One  of  the  recently  arrived  Swedes  was  armed,  as 
was  blue  mackinaw.  Jensen  crawled  along  nearer, 
thinking  he  might  catch  a  word  of  English  here  and 
there  and  gather  the  drift  of  what  they  were  talking 
about.  One  of  the  Swedes  kept  pointing  toward  the 
north  and  spoke  as  if  urging  something  upon  blue 
mackinaw,  but  he  of  the  blue  mackinaw  always  shook 
his  head  stubbornly  in  denial. 

Finally  the  Swedes,  apparently  coming  to  some 
sort  of  an  understanding,  separated.  Blue  mack 
inaw  started  off  toward  the  south  again  on  his 
sentry-go ;  the  other  two  men  walked  directly  toward 
where  Jensen  was  lying  concealed  by  the  overhang 
ing  floor  of  the  verandah. 

He  crouched  close  and  endeavored  to  make  him 
self  as  invisible  as  possible.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  he  was  going  to  escape  their  attention ;  then 
he  heard  their  heavy  steps  very  near  and  their  voices 
sounding  almost  directly  above  him.  He  looked  up. 

One  of  the  Swedes  was  a  square-headed  fellow  of 
enormous  shoulders  and  an  unkempt  yellow  beard; 
the  other  was  undersized,  with  close  moustache, 
pinched  features,  and  small,  pig-like  eyes.  The  big 


A  DISCOVERY!  223 

fellow  carried  a  gun  loosely  in  his  hands.  They  were 
still  arguing  violently  in  Swedish. 

One  glance  assured  Jensen  that  the  two  men  would 
leave  the  verandah  at  the  very  spot  where  he  was  ly 
ing  concealed.  The  big  fellow  was  a  little  in  ad 
vance.  Jensen  decided  he  would  rather  take  his 
chances  standing  up  than  to  have  those  big  feet  land 
on  his  body  while  he  was  lying  down  attempting  to 
escape  attention. 

Just  as  the  big  Swede  was  about  to  step  off  the 
verandah,  Jensen  arose  to  his  feet  with  a  wild  yell. 
Jumping  forward  with  arms  outstretched,  he  made  a 
grab  at  the  gun  the  fellow  carried  loosely  in  his  right 
hand. 

The  apparition-like  form  arising  so  unexpectedly 
in  the  night  before  them  made  both  men  fall  sharply 
back  with  astonishment.  Jensen  found  the  gun  in 
his  grasp. 

The  slow-thinking  Swedes  were  struck  dumb  with 
amazement.  Jensen  had  his  plans  well  in  mind. 
Clubbing  the  gun,  he  brought  the  breech  down  on  the 
larger  Swede's  head  with  all  the  force  his  muscles 
could  muster.  The  man  crumpled  up  like  a  polled 
ox. 

Jensen  was  turning  to  swing  at  the  smaller  fellow 
when  he  felt  himself  grasped  about  the  legs  by  a  pair 


224     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

of  wiry  arms,  and  he  stumbled  forward.  As  lie  fell, 
Jensen  thrust  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  downward  toward 
a  black  head  he  could  see  squirming  about  his  feet 
and  pulled  the  trigger.  The  black  head  below  ap 
peared  to  burst  like  a  bomb  into  a  thousand  pieces, 
and  Jensen  felt  his  legs  released.  He  could  hear  the 
feet  of  blue  mackinaw  rapidly  pounding  his  way. 
There  seemed  to  be  sounds  of  running  feet  and  yells 
coming  from  other  directions  as  well.  Disentang 
ling  himself  from  the  twisted  arms  of  the  headless 
body  below,  Jensen  arose  and  darted  toward  his 
chamber  window. 

As  he  sped  on,  he  heard  the  heavy  feet  of  blue 
mackinaw  stop.  He  knew  the  man  was  taking  aim. 
Then  there  came  a  terrific  explosion,  almost  in  his 
ear,  and  he  felt  a  sharp  sting  like  the  lash  of  a  whip 
across  his  face.  He  turned  and  with  clubbed  gun, 
swung  out  toward  blue  mackinaw.  It  was  but  a 
glancing  blow  he  struck,  yet  it  turned  the  fellow  away 
and  sent  blue  mackinaw's  gun  spinning  from  his 
hands.  Blue  mackinaw  darted  toward  his  gun  to 
regain  it. 

Without  waiting  to  lift  the  sash,  for  he  could  hear 
heavy  feet  approaching  from  every  direction,  Jensen 
held  his  gun  out  before  him  as  a  guard  and  crashed 
his  body  through  the  window  into  the  darkened  room 


A  DISCOVERY!  225 

he  supposed  to  be  the  chamber  he  had  left  a  short  time 
before. 

As  glass  and  sash  shivered  into  fragments  before 
the  impact  of  his  form,  and  Jensen  half  fell,  half 
staggered  forward,  a  piercing  feminine  scream  smote 
his  ears,  and  an  electric  globe  was  snapped  on,  blind 
ing  his  eyes  so  that  for  a  moment  he  could  see  noth 
ing. 


XVII 

CEAGGMOEIE 

CHIEF  HILKIE'S  motor-car,  hired  at  Carldale, 
shot  up  the  avenue  leading  to  the  main  resi 
dential  lodge  of  Craggmorie.  Chief  Hilkie  was  fol 
lowing  a  lead  that  had  little  besides  intuition  behind 
it ;  yet  more  than  half  the  success  of  many  if  not  all 
men  engaged  in  the  business  of  running  down  crim 
inals  starts  in  nothing  more  substantial  than  mere  in 
tuition,  or,  if  you  prefer,  the  possession  of  a  sixth 
sense,  the  ability  to  smell  a  rascal.  Burns,  the  great 
est  of  them  all,  acknowledges  this. 

The  man  in  pursuit  gets  a  certain  idea  about  a  cer 
tain  person  fixed  in  his  mind ;  sometimes  it  has  a  firm 
foundation  of  fact,  more  often  it  doesn't ;  it  is  simply 
a  "  hunch,"  yet  lacking  anything  else,  he  accepts  it  as 
a  basis  to  go  on.  Sometimes  the  idea  pans  out,  some 
times  not.  When  it  does  not  pan  out,  you  never  hear 
of  it ;  when  it  does,  the  news  flies  to  the  four  corners 
of  the  earth,  a  reputation  is  made  and  clinched. 

Chief  Hilkie  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  suspect  old  J. 
J.  Kerrison  of  being  a  counterfeiter ;  he  would  have 


CRAGGMORIE  227 

scouted  that  idea  as  being  rather  absurd.  Yet  the 
chief  did  have  the  fixed  idea  that  he  wanted  to  know 
more  about  the  man,  to  come  into  closer  personal  con 
tact  with  him,  and  to  look  into  his  ways  of  living  and 
doing  business.  Should  this  prove  a  cold  trail,  the 
chief  would  forget  it  and  pass  on  to  something  else, 
as  he  had  done  with  several  previous  ideas  regarding 
Case  BM432.  But  being  there,  the  only  way  to  get 
that  fixed  idea  out  of  his  mind  was  to  follow  it  up. 
As  the  chief  expressed  it  to  Beck,  while  they  rode  up 
the  avenue  toward  Craggmorie  lodge : 

"  Kerrison  is  acting  queerly.  I  want  to  know 
why;  so  we  will  run  up  here  and  have  a  quiet  look 
around  before  we  go  back  to  the  Carldale  station. 
Old  J.  J.  has  gone  down  to  the  station  to  board  his 
private  car,  thinking,  probably,  that  he  can  have 
it  pulled  out  behind  the  Springfield  Express  that 
comes  through  at  two  o'clock;  but  we  have  securely 
pocketed  the  Loch  Lavon  on  the  siding.  This  will 
prevent  his  getting  away  for  a  while,  and  I've  fixed 
matters  so  that  the  old  fox  won't  realize  that  we  have 
him  trapped  for  some  time  yet." 

The  chauffeur,  Miller,  appeared  to  be  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  locality  about  Craggmorie,  and 
they  traveled  up  an  avenue  lined  with  giant  trees  at 
a  fast  clip,  finally  coming  to  a  huge,  low,  rambling 


228     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

building  that  proved  to  be  the  main  lodge.  Lights 
were  shining  in  the  lodge  windows,  and  the  front  door 
flew  open  as  the  chief's  car  stopped.  Two  liveried 
servants  came  out  and  appeared  vastly  astonished 
when  they  saw  that  it  was  not  the  Kerrison  car  re 
turning. 

One  of  the  servants,  a  big,  burly  fellow  with  a 
pronounced  English  cast  of  countenance  and  a  still 
more  pronounced  English  accent,  made  a  show  of  truc- 
ulence  immediately  the  chief  left  his  car  and  stepped 
toward  the  door. 

"  Hi  say  there,  you  carn't  come  in  'ere,"  he  said, 
placing  his  form  in  the  chief's  pathway.  "  You're 
hon  private  property,  you  know ;  there's  no  trespass 
ing  hallowed.  You'll  'ave  to  turn  back  himmideately. 
That  thick-'eaded  gate-keeper  must  'ave  been  drunk 
or  asleep  to  let  you  in.  Hi'll  see  that  he's  taken  down 
smartly  for  it." 

The  chief  assumed  his  sternest  demeanor  as  he 
pulled  a  card  from  his  pocket,  handed  it  to  the  serv 
ant,  and  said  in  icy  tones: 

"  I  have  an  appointment  with  Mr.  J.  J.  Kerrison. 
Take  that  card  to  him  immediately.  Tell  him  Chief 
Hilkie  of  the  United  States  Treasury  Department  is 
waiting." 

"  But  Hi  say,"  stammered  the  servant,  somewhat 


CRAGGMORIE  229 

awed  by  the  title  of  his  visitor,  "  the  marster's  nort 
at  'ome.  You  surely  must  have  parsed  'im  on  the 
way.  'E  left  nort  twenty  minutes  back  to  go  to  the 
railway  station." 

"  I'll  wait,"  snapped  the  chief.  "  He's  expecting 
me,  and  he'll  certainly  return  soon."  Chief  Hilkie 
beckoned  to  his  two  men  as  he  continued.  "  We'll 
wait  inside  and  be  more  comfortable." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  but  you'll  wait  hout- 
side,  and  houtside  the  grounds,  too,  if  you  please. 
It's  Mr.  Kerrison's  express  orders  that  no  one,  posi 
tively  no  one,  is  hever  allowed  inside  the  grounds 
when  he's  nort  'ere,"  said  the  servant,  stepping  back 
ward  until  his  huge  form  filled  the  doorway. 

"  I  will  personally  assume  all  responsibility  for  my 
actions,"  said  the  chief.  "  Understand  that  you  are 
speaking  to  a  representative  of  the  United  States  gov 
ernment  and  kindly  conduct  us  to  the  reception  room ; 
we  will  await  Mr.  Kerrison's  return  there." 

Chief  Hilkie  stepped  toward  the  entrance,  but  the 
servant  was  too  quick  for  him ;  before  the  chief  could . 
get  inside,  he  found  the  door  slammed  in  his  face, 
while  a  voice  shouted  from  behind  it : 

"  I  don't  care  a  tuppence  for  your  government. 
These  are  private  grounds,  and  I'd  'ave  you  hunder- 
stand  that  you  carn't  play  skittles  on  them  has  you 


230     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

please.  Hif  you  don't  leave  hat  once,  Hi'll  arouse  the 
gamekeepers  and  'ave  you  chased  hout  with  guns." 

Realizing  that  further  attempts  to  get  inside  the 
house  would  only  result  in  a  messy  row,  the  chief  and 
his  two  men  re-entered  the  motor-car,  turned  about, 
and  started  down  the  avenue  toward  the  main  road. 
Out  of  sight  of  the  lodge,  the  chief  turned  to  Miller 
the  chauffeur,  and  said : 

"  Draw  in  here  and  stop.  I'm  going  to  get  out  and 
take  a  little  scouting  trip  to  see  what's  to  be  seen. 
Come  on,  boys,"  he  beckoned  to  Martin  and  Beck, 
and  the  three  left  the  car,  going  back  toward  the  house. 
They  kept  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  until  they 
reached  the  main  lodge;  seeing  that  all  was  quiet 
there,  they  passed  around  to  the  rear.  Here  they 
came  upon  a  garage  and  a  building  somewhat  smaller 
than  the  main  lodge,  that  the  chief  took  to  be  either  a 
gamekeeper's  residence  or  quarters  for  the  house  serv 
ants.  The  windows  in  neither  of  these  buildings 
were  alight,  and  Chief  Hilkie  took  it  for  granted  that 
if  they  were  inhabited  the  people  had  retired.  Back 
of  the  garage  was  a  high,  wooded  eminence  with  a 
path  leading  upward.  Up  there  the  chief  thought  he 
could  see  in  the  darkness  a  tall  building  with  a  light 
in  one  window.  Toward  this  building  the  three  men 
started. 


CRAGGMORIE  231 

As  they  came  nearer,  they  found  the  building  to  be 
an  observation  tower  of  some  sort,  built  much  like  a 
lighthouse,  with  dome  top  and  balcony  about  the 
dome.  There  was  a  door  at  the  bottom  and  one  win 
dow  beside  the  door.  The  curtain  of  this  window  was 
drawn,  and  a  light  inside  threw  upon  the  curtain  the 
shadow  of  a  man's  head  and  shoulders. 

The  shadow  upon  the  curtain  was  clear  cut,  and  as 
he  came  to  where  he  was  afforded  full  view,  the  chief 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  and  started 
forward  on  a  run. 

"  Cracky !  the  chap  has  either  been  murdered  or 
has  hung  himself,"  said  the  chief  to  Martin,  who 
raced  along  close  beside  him. 

The  shadowed  head  was  sunk  forward  from  the 
shoulders,  and  from  the  neck  a  taut  cord  led  up 
ward. 

Reaching  the. door,  the  chief  fumbled  for  the  knob 
and  tried  to  turn  it.  The  door  was  locked.  Putting 
their  shoulders  against  it,  the  three  men  gave  one  con 
certed  shove,  burst  the  door  open,  and  stumbled  head 
long  into  a  brilliantly  lighted  room. 

A  young  man  who  had  been  seated  at  a  table  read 
ing  a  book  jumped  up  with  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise  and  reached  for  an  automatic  that  lay  close  to 
his  hand  among  a  clutter  of  clock-work  like  machinery 


232     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

on  the  table.  Smooth-faced,  light-haired  and  with 
boyish  features,  the  young  chap  did  not  look  to  be 
more  than  nineteen  or  twenty  years  old.  Across  his 
head  from  ear  to  ear  he  wore  a  band  of  brass  with  a 
circular  rubber  receiver  at  one  end;  leading  upward 
from  this  arrangement  was  a  heavy,  insulated  cord. 
It  was  this  affair  that  had  made  the  shadow  cast  on 
the  window  curtain  appear  as  if  he  were  a  dangling 
corpse. 

Beck,  a  veteran  in  the  United  States  Secret  Serv 
ice,  had  him  covered  with  his  revolver  before  the 
young  chap  could  fairly  get  his  own  gun  off  the  table. 

"  Drop  it,"  cried  Beck,  "  and  put  up  your  hands. 
Way  up  —  up  or  I'll  shoot." 

"  I'll  be  dashed  if  I  will,"  said  the  young  man.  He 
ducked  with  lightning  speed  and  made  a  flying  leap 
toward  Beck's  legs,  catching  the  veteran  Secret  Serv 
ice  man  about  the  knees  with  a  perfect  football  tackle. 

Beck's  revolver  barked  harmlessly  toward  the  ceil 
ing  ;  Beck  himself  crashed  headlong  toward  the  floor. 
The  youth  regained  his  feet  and  would  have  darted 
toward  the  open  door  had  not  Martin  caught  him  with 
a  bear-like  hug  around  his  arms  and  swung  him  back 
into  the  chair  beside  the  table. 

"  Used  to  play  football  myself,"  said  Martin,  with 
an  appreciative  grin.  "  That  was  a  plucky  tackle  of 


CRAGGMORIE  233 

yours;  but  we're  three  to  one,  so  you'd  better  be 
have." 

The  chief  showed  his  shield.  "  We're  not  here  to 
do  you  any  harm,"  he  said,  as  he  took  in  everything 
about  the  room  in  a  quick,  roving  glance  and  then  fell 
into  a  chair. 

A  look  of  relief  overspread  the  young  man's  fea 
tures.  "  Oh,  officers !  "  he  said.  "  I  thought  you 
were  yeggs.  What's  up  ?  " 

"  Nothing  much,"  answered  the  chief.  "  We  came 
up  here  to  see  Mr.  Kerrison,  and  as  he  was  not  at 
home,  one  of  the  house  servants  warned  us  off  the 
grounds.  Walking  about,  we  saw  your  shadow  on  the 
curtain,  thought  you  were  hung,  and  broke  in  to  cut 
you  down." 

"  Oh,  I  see,  my  receiver,"  he  said,  picking  up  the 
brass  band  with  its  attached  wire  that  had  been  pulled 
off  his  head  in  the  recent  scuffle.  "  No,  I'm  not  hung, 
yet,"  he  continued,  "  but  I  may  be  in  danger  of  it,  if 
I  stay  on  the  job  here  much  longer.  It's  the  most  for 
saken  corner  of  God's  green  earth  I  ever  struck.  I've 
been  here  eight  days,  and  there  has  been  but  six  mes 
sages  for  us  in  all  that  time." 

The  chief  looked  curious.  The  young  man  went  on 
to  explain. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Kerrison's  wireless  station.     Didn't 


234     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

you  notice  the  mushroom  antenna  in  the  air  before 
you  came  in  ?  " 

The  chief  hadn't  noticed  it  in  the  darkness  and  said 
so.  What  seemed  to  interest  him  most,  however,  was 
those  six  messages  that  had  come  in. 

"  You'd  better  let  me  look  over  your  message  file," 
said  the  chief.  "  I'm  expecting  a  wireless  to  Carldale 
from  the  North  myself.  Perhaps  you  have  caught 
it." 

For  an  instant  the  young  man  hesitated  as  he 
glanced  from  the  chief  to  Beck  and  back  to  the  chief, 
who  happened  just  then  to  carelessly  turn  back  the 
lapel  of  his  coat  again  as  he  caught  the  youth's 
eye. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  care  much  about  the  job,  any 
way,"  said  the  young  man,  reaching  toward  a  drawer 
in  the  table  and  pulling  out  a  loose-leaf  record  book. 
"  The  old  crab  will  throw  a  fit  if  he  finds  it  out ;  but  I 
suppose  government  orders  go  ahead  of  his.  You'll 
find  all  the  messages  taken  and  sent  for  this  month  in 
that  book,"  he  tossed  the  volume  toward  the  chief. 

Chief  Hilkie  opened  the  file  book  and  ran  through 
the  first  few  pages  without  any  great  show  of  interest. 
The  messages  received  were  mostly  orders  from  Ker- 
rison  to  the  house  servants  and  gamekeepers  regard 
ing  the  conduct  of  the  place.  Those  sent  out  were 


CRAGGMORIE  235 

principally  to  New  York,  Boston,  and  Springfield  or 
dering  supplies. 

"  About  as  exciting  as  a  cookbook,"  thought  the 
chief,  as  he  turned  rather  listlessly  toward  the  last  two 
pages  of  the  volume.  Suddenly  his  grip  tightened, 
his  keen  eyes  began  to  burn,  and  an  exclamation  of 
astonishment  escaped  from  his  lips. 

"  Cracky ! "  he  snapped.  "  This  is  strange. 
When  did  you  get  this  message?  Who  did  it  come 
from  and  who  is  '  Gold,  Vermont '  ?  "  The  chief 
turned  toward  the  young  wireless  operator  and  read 
aloud : 

"'Gold,  Vermont: 

"  Last  order  burned  in  Little  Babos  camp.  Will  duplicate 
and  forward  through  by  special  messenger.  Acknowledge, 

"  SOLABI,  Canada.' " 

"  Oh,  that  ?  Really  I  don't  know  who  it  is  from, 
or  who  it  is  meant  for.  It's  a  message  that's  been 
banging  against  our  antenna  repeatedly  for  the  last 
half-hour,  and  I  made  a  file  of  it  solely  because  I  ran 
across  another  message  to  l  Gold,  Vermont '  in  an  old 
file  left  by  my  predecessor.  I  telephoned  down  to  the 
lodge  to  ask  if  it  was  meant  for  us,  but  Mr.  Kerrison 
had  just  left,  and  no  one  there  seemed  to  know  any 
thing  about  it." 

Chief  Hilkie  eyed  the  operator  keenly  while  he  ex- 


236     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

plained  the  message  the  chief  had  just  read  aloud. 
As  the  young  man  finished  speaking,  the  chief  spoke 
sharply : 

"  Find  me  that  old  message,  to  '  Gold,  Vermont.' 
I  think  it's  the  key  I've  been  searching  for." 

After  a  little  delay,  the  operator  dug  the  desired 
sheet  from  a  mass  of  dusty  papers  on  a  file  hook,  apolo 
gizing  :  "  Semple,  the  last  operator,  had  no  system 
at  all,  left  everything  here  in  a  filthy  mess,  and  I 
haven't  got  it  all  straightened  out  yet." 

The  chief  ran  his  eye  quickly  through  the  typewrit 
ten  sheet,  and  his  square  jaws  clicked  together  with  a 
snap  of  satisfaction.  He  folded  the  message,  placed  it 
in  his  pocket,  tore  the  last  two  pages  from  the  loose- 
leaf  file,  and  tucked  those  in  beside  it.  Then  he  stood 
to  his  feet  as  he  said  curtly : 

"  Young  man,  what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Levering,  sir,  Sam.  K.  Levering,"  answered  the 
operator. 

"  Levering,  Samuel  K.,"  said  the  chief,  "  from  this 
moment  forward  you  are  appointed  a  deputy  of  the 
United  States  Secret  Service.  Stand  by  that  machine 
of  yours,  take  everything  that  comes  in,  and  file  it  for 
my  exclusive  inspection.  I  am  going  down  to  the 
railway  station,  my  two  men  will  remain  here  and  see 
that  you  do  not  become  lonely  and  that  no  one  from 


CRAGGMORIE  237 

the  lodge  interferes  with  your  work.  I'll  have  some 
messages  to  send  out  when  I  return." 

There  was  a  confident  swing  to  the  chief's  shoulders 
as  he  strode  toward  the  door,  signing  to  Beck  to  fol 
low.  Outside  he  said  to  his  chief  assistant : 

"  I  can't  quite  see  the  thing  clear,  but  there's  some 
thing  mighty  peculiar  going  on  inside  the  Kerrison 
Syndicate.  I've  got  enough  in  these  wireless  mes 
sages  to  start  old  J.  J.  explaining,  I  think,  and  I'm 
off  to  interview  him  at  the  station,  where  I  left  word 
with  Widden  to  hold  him  until  I  returned.  I'll  be 
back  here  inside  of  two  hours.  Wait  here  for  me." 

The  chief  hurried  down  to  where  his  motor-car  had 
been  waiting  in  the  darkness  on  the  Craggmorie  ave 
nue  leading  to  the  main  road  to  town.  Here  he  gave 
Miller  orders  to  let  everything  loose,  make  top  speed  in 
getting  back  to  the  station,  and  they  were  quickly  on 
the  way. 


XVIII 

THE    WINKING    LIGHTS 

AS  Alan  Jensen  crashed  through  the  window  into 
Argyle  House  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  ad 
justed  themselves  to  the  unexpected  glare,  he  saw  a 
slim  white  hand  drawing  back  from  the  electric  but 
ton  and  a  tall  form  dressed  in  beribboned  negligee 
standing  staring  at  him  from  the  far  side  of  the  room. 
It  was  Kerry  Mallabee.  He  had  evidently  broken 
into  her  chamber  instead  of  his  own  as  he  had  at  first 
supposed. 

"Turn  off  that  light!"  he  yelled  hoarsely. 
"  Don't  you  know  you  are  making  a  perfect  target  of 
us  both  ?  " 

The  light  was  snapped  off  the  instant  the  words  left 
his  lips,  and  he  heard  Kerry  Mallabee  speaking : 

"  Oh !  it  is  you,  Boy,  and  you  are  all  covered  with 
blood.  What  on  earth  has  happened  ?  " 

Jensen  put  up  his  hand  to  his  face ;  it  came  away 
wet  with  warm  blood,  and  for  the  first  time  he  was 
acutely  aware  of  a  smarting  line  extending  across  his 
face  from  the  corner  of  his  ear  to  the  point  of  his 


THE  WINKING  LIGHTS       239 

chin.  It  was  the  path  recently  plowed  by  the  bullet 
from  blue  mackinaw's  gun.  But  a  slight  turn  of  his 
head  at  the  moment,  and  the  bullet  would  have 
broken  his  jaw  and  pierced  the  brain ;  but  he  had  no 
time  to  think  of  that  now.  He  turned  back  toward 
the  smashed  window  with  gun  clubbed  ready  to 
strike.  He  had  no  ammunition,  and  the  single  car 
tridge  the  gun  held  had  been  the  means  of  releasing 
his  legs  from  the  grip  of  the  undersized  Swede  who 
grasped  them  when  he  saw  his  larger  comrade 
crumple  up  under  Jensen's  blow. 

He  could  hear  half  a  dozen  Swedes  talking  loudly 
together  outside ;  yet  they  made  no  attempt  to  follow 
him.  He  stepped  closer  to  the  window  and  peered 
out.  They  were  gathered  about  the  body  of  the  lit 
tle  fellow  who  lay  there  with  his  head  blown  off,  pay 
ing  no  attention  to  the  big  chap,  who  was  sitting  up, 
rubbing  his  bruised  skull  and  grunting  vociferously. 
The  headless  body  seemed  to  fascinate  them;  they 
acted  as  if  it  were  something  uncanny,  kept  point 
ing  down  to  it  and  then  toward  the  window  where 
Jensen  had  recently  disappeared. 

Jensen  felt  a  soft  hand  resting  lightly  on  his  shoul 
der,  and  Kerry  Mallabee's  voice  whispered  close  to 
his  ear: 

"  Tell  me,  Boy,"  she  said,  "  what  has  happened. 


240     A  SIREX  OF  THE  SXOWS 

Don't  be  cross.  I  didn't  realize  the  danger  when  I 
turned  on  the  light  I  thought  it  was  one  of  the 
miners  breaking  in,  I  was  so  frightened  I  didn't 
know  what  I  was  doing." 

For  the  first  time  it  came  sharply  to  Jensen's  mind 
that  he  was  in  Kerry  Mallabee's  chamber.  He 
turned  a  face  doubly  crimsoned  by  blood  and  embar 
rassment  toward  her  as  he  stammered : 

"  Suffering  Caesar !  It  is  I  who  should  apologize, 
I  thought  I  was  coming  back  to  my  own  chamber.  I 
left  it  a  short  time  ago,  thinking  I  might  be  able  to 
gain  the  power-house  in  the  darkness  and  release  the 
men  confined  there.  But  I  found  it  was  useless  and 
was  coming  back  to  what  I  supposed  was  my  chamber 
when  I  ran  into  two  Swedes  and  had  to  make  a  dash 
for  it.  One  of  them  almost  got  me  with  a  bullet  in 
the  head."  He  gave  Kerry  Mallabee  the  essential 
details  of  his  encounter  with  the  Swedes  outside  and 
then  added :  "  I  offer  a  thousand  apologies  for 
dashing  in  here.  I  will  go  at  once.  But  you  cannot 
stay  here,  either,"  he  continued,  as  he  thought  of  the 
broken  window  that  was  rapidly  dropping  the  room 
temperature  toward  zero. 

"  Xo,  I  don't  think  I  will  remain  here,"  she  said. 
"We'll  both  go  to  father's  den;  he  has  a  medicine 
cabinet  and  first  aid  truck  there,  and  I  can  attend  to 


THE  WIXKIXG  LIGHTS       241 

vour  wound.  Does  it  hurt,  Boy?"  she  asked  ten 
derly. 

"  It  is  nothing ;  a  mere  scratch,"  he  answered. 
"  I'll  step  outside  the  door  while  you  dress,  if  you 
think  there  is  no  danger  of  the  Swedes  coming  in." 

He  glanced  out  of  the  window  again.  The  miners 
had  picked  up  the  body  of  their  dead  comrade  and 
were  all  moving  off  toward  the  bunkhouse,  leaving 
that  side  of  the  bungalow  unprotected.  This  was 
odd  conduct ;  yet  Jensen  thought  little  of  it  at  the  mo 
ment,  so  many  other  matters  were  on  his  mind. 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  their  breaking  in  here," 
said  Kerry  Mallabee.  "  It  is  as  father  says :  the 
place  is  taboo  to  them.  They  probably  took  you  for 
one  of  those  thousand  devils  when  you  rose  up  be 
fore  them  from  the  ground  outside  and  blew  the  head 
off  one  of  their  comrades.  And  I  am  already 
dressed,"  she  continued.  "  I  knew  I  couldn't  sleep, 
so  I  just  slipped  on  this  comfy  robe  and  was  sitting 
here  thinking  and  resting." 

She  led  Jensen  in  the  darkness  toward  a  door  lead 
ing  from  her  chamber  into  the  main  hallway.  As 
she  opened  the  door,  steps  came  hurrying  along  the 
hall,  and  her  father's  voice  was  heard  asking : 

"  What  is  it,  Kerry,  are  you  harmed  ?  I  was 
awakened  from  a  sound  sleep  by  shots.  I  couldn't 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  SXOWS 


it  fcuwd*  afc  law*  »B*  wriomfy,;"  ite  i«* 
«^K«iY^tl*^ttowtaa4*ifc 
fer  it  **4  itliMft  A*  w»  «ataat  i*  tbe 


---  ^   ^^~^    ^^  ^"fc.  —  >—    ,  _.   i-,,^*      im  ^  V.  -     *^ 

RHB.  WRp  vK  iBBPHt  ^EVHv  dHBv  JBBBT  KWlCUI^r  •UB»* 

&**!  j^»  «i«  tbftkra^  tlu*  «i«ur  %M  wit- 
&R»«%*  w»i  lUA 

in 


k* 


Ht  ^NW  flMMBR  ¥ft  VMMNAWW 


IM  WAk     -«NR% 


Jensen  leaned  his  head  back  in  a  comfortable, 
leather-covered  chair,  while  Kerry  Mallabee  carefully 
and  gently  cleansed  the  wound,  covered  it  with  ster 
ilized  cotton,  and  then  fastened  the  cotton  securely  in 
place  with  adhesive  tape,  She  was  just  affixing  the 
last  length  of  tape  and  Jensen  was  thinking  how  de 
lightful  a  sensation  it  was  to  find  himself  under  her 
skilful  ministering  care,  when  suddenly  the  cluster 
of  electric  lights  hanging  above  their  heads  went  out 

Mallabee,  who  had  been  sitting  beside  the  fireplace, 
jumped  hurriedly  to  his  feet 

"  What  can  that  mean  ? "  he  growled.  "  The  larri 
kins  cannot  have  cut  our  main  current  wire.  They 
haven't  the  tools,  and  they  wouldn't  dare  touch  it; 
they  know  it's  alive.  It  must  be  something  has  hap 
pened  at  the  power-house."  He  strode  toward  the 
window  to  look  out  in  that  direction. 

The  absence  of  some  sound  his  ears  had  lately  be 
come  accustomed  to  was  puzzling  Jensen's  brain  as 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  there  in  the  darkness.  For  a 
moment  ho  eonM  not  think  \vh;it  it  \\:is.  Then  it 
suddenly  dawned  upon  him.  The  steady  tramp  of 
the  Swedes  doing  their  monotonous  sentry-go  on  the 
verandah  had  ceased.  He  wondered  what  it  could 
me:m.  lino!  thev  stopped  to  note  the  siuhlen  shut 
ting  off  of  the  lights  ? 


244     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Almost  before  Mallabee  ceased  speaking,  the  lights 
came  on,  remained  on  for  a  brief  space,  and  then  all 
was  as  suddenly  darkness  again. 

The  oddness  of  it  made  the  three  people  feel  a 
sense  of  some  approaching  calamity.  They  stood 
rigid,  looking  and  listening,  expecting,  they  knew  not 
what. 

Again  the  lights  came  on,  only  to  darken  again  at 
once.  Then  they  snapped  on  once  more,  blinding 
their  eyes  with  the  sudden  glare. 

The  room  was  as  quiet  as  the  grave.  Suddenly 
Kerry  Mallabee's  voice,  sounding  strangely  hoarse 
and  far  away,  cut  the  silence.  She  stood  half 
crouched  over  the  table,  with  one  clenched  hand  held 
to  her  chin,  and  her  eyes  staring,  speaking  slowly, 
with  a  swift,  nervous  intake  of  breath  between  every 
word. 

"  T-H-E,  Yes,"  she  shuddered.  "  Oh,  God,  hurry, 
what  is  it,  what  is  it?  S-W-E-D-E-S.  Yes.  '  The 
Swedes/  "  she  repeated. 

Her  form  seemed  to  sway  beside  him  like  a  shadow 
in  the  wind  as  she  stared  back  into  Jensen's  eyes  and 
spelled  out  the  message  in  Morse  alphabet  that  the 
winking  lights  were  trying  to  send  them  from  the 
power-house. 

Kerry  Mallabee's  hand  reached  out  painfully  and 


THE  WINKING  LIGHTS       245 

found  Jensen's  arm.  She  clutched  it  with  the  des 
peration  of  a  drowning  person. 

"  Yes,  the  Swedes,"  she  said  again.  "  Oh,  God, 
why  don't  they  send  faster,  I  can  take  it.  H-A-V-E. 
The  Swedes  have.  B-K-O-K-E-N.  I-K-T-0. 
T-H-E.  S-T-0-K-E-H-O-U-S-E.  Yes,"  she  whis 
pered  hoarsely.  "  The  Swedes  have  broken  into  the 
storehouse." 

"  Smash  a  globe  if  you  get  me,"  spelled  out  Kerry 
Mallabee  more  rapidly  now.  "  I'll  feel  the  shock 
here  on  the  transformer."  She  reached  up  and  broke 
a  frosted  globe  with  her  bare  hand.  The  tiny,  spit 
ting  report  seemed  to  crash  through  the  silent  room 
like  a  burst  of  thunder,  so  strained  was  the  attention 
of  the  listeners,  standing  there  rigidly  alert  in  every 
sense. 

Now  the  lights  began  to  wink  more  rapidly,  as  the 
man  working  over  on  the  switchboard  at  the  other  end 
of  the  feed  wire  realized  his  message  was  being  taken. 

Kerry  Mallabee  was  so  weak  with  the  strain  she 
could  hardly  keep  erect.  Jensen  longed  to  take  her 
in  his  arms,  yet  something,  he  knew  not  what,  held 
him  from  it.  He  stood  there,  feeling  as  if  his  limbs 
were  locked  in  an  icy  embrace,  as  his  staring  eyes 
looked,  and  his  ears  listened. 

"  They  —    have  —    taken  —   twelve  —   cases  — 


246     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

of — "  she  repeated.  There  was  a  long,  maddening 
pause,  as  if  something  were  the  trouble  at  the  other 
end  of  the  feed  wire. 

"  Hurry !  "  she  screamed.  "  Why  don't  they  hurry. 
They  have  taken  twelve  cases  of  what  ?  " 

"  Dynamite  !  " 

The  snapping  word  left  her  lips  in  an  explosive, 
choking  shriek.  Then  the  lights  began  to  wink  so 
rapidly  that  her  hoarsely  whispered  letters  almost 
tumbled  over  one  another  as  she  repeated  them. 

"  They  —  have  —  gone  —  to  —  blow  —  up  —  the 

—  dam."     The  awful  horror  of  this  last  sentence 
seemed  to  lend  strength  to  Kerry  Mallabee's  form. 
She  straightened,  and  a  look  of  wild  anger  over 
spread  her  face. 

The  lights  began  to  snap  on  and  off  with  dazzling 
rapidity.  It  made  Jensen's  eyes  ache  acutely,  the  in 
termittent,  blinding  glare. 

"  They  are  crazy  drunk.  They  took  out  Petty 
john,  Vetch  the  cook,  and  Truesdale,  and  clubbed 
them  to  death  in  cold  blood  while  their  hands  were 
tied.  They  got  me,  too,  I  guess,  but  I'm  good  for  a 
few  minutes  longer.  You'd  better  hurry  up  on  the 
cliff,  no  telling  how  soon  they  may  set  off  the  dyna 
mite  and  flood  the  canyon.  I'm  —  I'm  all  in.  Can't 

—  send  —  any  — ." 


THE  WINKING  LIGHTS       247 

The  message  slowed  down,  trickled  off  into  a  long, 
blinding  dash  and  the  electric  lights  of  Argyle  House 
and  the  life  of  stout-hearted  Dick  Evans  went  out  to 
gether. 

Stephen  Mallabee  arose  to  his  feet  with  an  angry 
gesture,  cursing  the  miners  with  every  oath  he  could 
drag  forth  from  years  of  repression. 

"  My  five  best  men  killed,"  he  cried.  "  Poor  fel 
lows,  poor  fellows!  And  now  those  thrice  damned 
idiots  are  preparing  to  destroy  the  labor  of  my  life 
in  an  instant,  burst  the  dam,  and  flood  Black  Devil's 
Bed."  He  paused  as  if  an  idea  had  come  to  him. 
"  Intend  to  drown  us  all  like  rats  in  a  trap,  eh  ?  Per 
haps,  but  I'll  see  that  a  few  of  them  reach  hell  before 
we  do."  He  strode  toward  the  door. 

"  Father !  "  cried  Kerry  Mallabee,  as  she  struck  a 
match  on  a  fireplace  tile  and  lighted  a  candelabra  that 
stood  on  the  mantel.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "  he  repeated  explosively.  "  I  am  going  to 
blow  up  my  own  dam,  and  a  few  of  those  pigeon- 
brained  idiots  with  it,  before  they  have  a  chance.  I 
was  prepared  for  this;  the  dam  was  planted  with 
mines  when  it  was  built.  I  thought  there  might  pos 
sibly  come  a  time  when  I  would  wish  to  wipe  out  this 
entire  undertaking  at  one  stroke.  But  I  never  ex 
pected  such  brainless  beasts  as  they  would  be  the 


248     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

cause  of  my  wanting  to  destroy  it."  The  tears  were 
almost  in  his  eyes,  and  his  powerful  voice  shook  as  he 
staggered  and  fell  into  a  chair,  his  body  weakened 
with  the  sorrow  that  overcame  him. 

"  This  is  maddening,"  he  continued  in  a  choking 
voice.  "  There  are  fifty  of  them,  while  we  are  but 
three  men  and  a  handful  of  scared  rabbits  of  Chinese 
house-boys.  There  is  nothing  on  earth  we  can  do  to 
stop  them."  He  stood  up  again,  a  towering  figure 
in  his  rage  as  he  growled :  "  But  I  can  send  a  few  of 
them  to  death  with  my  dam,  and  I  will." 

"  Now,  father,"  said  Kerry  Mallabee  soothingly, 
as  she  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  drew  him  back 
into  the  chair.  "  Do  be  calm ;  this  is  no  time  for 
thoughts  of  that  sort.  We  must  first  get  to  the  power 
house  somehow  and  see  if  there  is  any  one  alive  there. 
Then  we  and  the  servants  can  go  to  the  cliff,  out  of 
reach  of  the  drowning  flood  that  will  come  when  the 
dam  bursts." 

"  Let  me  go  to  the  power-house,"  said  Jensen. 
"  I've  my  gun  for  protection,  though  I  doubt  if  I'll 
need  it.  I  don't  believe  there  are  any  of  the  miners 
left  in  the  canyon.  I  missed  the  sound  of  their  pa 
trolling  feet  about  the  verandah  some  time  ago." 

"  And  take  Peter  Saint  and  Babe  with  you,"  said 
Kerry  Mallabee.  "  Peter  knows  his  way  about  here 


THE  WINKING  LIGHTS       249 

almost  as  well  as  a  man  with  eyes,  and  he  may  be  of 
some  help  to  you.     I'll  call  him." 

She  stepped  out  for  a  moment  and  soon  returned, 
followed  by  the  habitan  and  his  dog. 

"  Now  go,  Boy,"  she  said.  "  And  if  there  is  a  soul 
alive  in  the  power-house,  bring  them  here.  I  don't 
believe  there  will  be  any  serious  danger  from  the  dam 
for  an  hour  yet ;  it  will  take  the  miners  that  long  to 
place  enough  dynamite  where  it  will  be  effective. 
Go,  Boy,"  she  added,  "  and  return  as  quickly  as  you 
can." 

The  patrolling  miners  had  all  disappeared.  With 
Peter  Saint  and  Babe,  Jensen  left  Argyle  House  and 
raced  toward  the  power  building  at  the  foot  of  the 
falls.  Lights  were  burning  there,  and  they  could  still 
hear  the  hum  of  the  generators.  This  struck  Jensen 
as  odd.  If  the  lights  were  on  here,  why  had  they 
been  shut  off  at  Argyle  House  ? 

Jensen  found  the  only  power-house  entrance  to  be 
an  iron  door  securely  locked,  and  the  long  line  of 
windows  was  high  up,  far  out  of  his  reach.  He 
pounded  on  the  door,  but  no  response  came  from 
within. 

"  Wait  wan  leetle  bit,"  said  the  habitan.  "  I 
theenk  Sin  Petair  ees  know  wan  way  to  get  in ;  there 
ees  the  tool-house."  He  told  Jensen  of  a  nearby  small 


250     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

building;  searching  there,  they  found  two  long  iron 
bars. 

Armed  with  these  bars,  Jensen  and  the  habitan 
managed  to  spring  the  iron  door  so  that  the  lock 
snapped,  and  the  door  burst  open. 

Inside  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes  was  horrible, 
sickening.  Truesdale,  Vetch  the  cook,  and  Pettyjohn 
lay  upon  the  floor,  their  limbs  bound,  and  their  heads 
beat  beyond  human  semblance.  Before  the  switch 
board,  dotted  with  its  black-rubber-handled  levers  and 
its  shining  metal  buttons  lay  the  body  of  Dick  Evans, 
the  electrician,  a  great,  handsome  fellow,  with  one 
broken  arm  distorted  and  folded  beneath  him  where  he 
had  fallen  as  he  stood  at  the  switchboard  and  snapped 
the  lever  sending  the  warning  message  to  Argyle 
House  by  which  he  hoped  to  save  the  residents  there. 
A  great  gash  in  the  side  of  Evans'  head,  half  hid  by 
matted,  blood-soaked  hair,  showed  where  the  drink- 
craned  miners  had  dealt  him  what  they  probably  sup 
posed  was  a  death  blow. 

The  blood  had  run  down  upon  his  hand,  and  the 
Argyle  House  current  switch  above  was  all  smeared 
with  it.  Poor  Evans'  last  movement  before  he  fell 
had  been  to  throw  off  the  switch  in  trying  to  make  the 
Morse  dot  for  the  final  letter  of  his  last  word. 

Jensen  threw  back  the  switch  to  "  On,"  and  through 


THE  WINKING  LIGHTS       251 

the  power-house  door  saw  the  lights  shine  up  again  at 
Argyle  House.  Then  he  composed  the  body  of  poor 
Evans  as  well  as  he  might,  softly  murmured,  "  God 
rest  your  gallant  soul,  old  man,"  closed  the  iron  door, 
and  left  the  building  with  Peter  Saint  and  Babe. 

There  was  nothing  more  that  could  be  done  there. 
Unless  some  accidental  breakdown  were  to  occur,  the 
generators  would  continue  to  run  for  hours  yet,  sup 
plied  with  power,  as  they  were,  from  the  ceaselessly 
falling  water  in  the  turbine  tower,  though  lack  of 
lubricating  oil  would  probably  burn  them  out  in  time. 

Realizing  that  the  Swedes  would  soon  blow  up  the 
dam  and  flood  Black  Devil's  Bed,  Jensen  and  the 
habitan  hurried  toward  Argyle  House.  All  thoughts 
of  his  recent  discovery  of  a  complete  coining  plant 
beneath  the  bungalow  had  left  Jensen's  mind;  his 
overwhelming  desire  at  present  was  to  be  of  what  as 
sistance  he  might  in  aiding  the  Mallabee  household  to 
leave  the  canyon  before  the  flood  came. 


GBEEK    MEETS    GREEK 

X^IHIEF  HILKIE'S  chauffeur,  Miller,  made  ex- 
V^  cellent  time  in  getting  back  to  Carldale  station 
after  leaving  Craggmorie.  As  they  came  within  sight 
of  the  shabby  little  railway  building,  the  chief  noted 
that  lights  were  burning  within,  and  that  the  two  pri 
vate  cars  down  on  the  blind  siding  were  both  aglow 
with  light. 

"  Pull  up  to  the  station  first,"  ordered  the  chief  to 
Miller.  "  I'll  see  what  Widden  has  to  report." 

Widden  was  standing  in  the  doorway  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  wearing  the  station  agent's  uniform  cap  atop 
of  his  strawberry  blond  hair.  His  rubicund  counte 
nance  split  with  a  grin  as  the  chief  bustled  up. 

"  Came  down  here,  did  he  ? "  asked  the  chief,  who 
knew  how  to  interpret  that  grin. 

"  He  did,"  answered  Widden.  "  And  if  you  ever 
saw  a  bear  with  a  sore  ear,  you  know  what  condition 
he  is  in  now.  He  came  in  here  first  with  a  tele 
graphic  order  to  have  the  Springfield  express  stop  and 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK   253 

hook  on  to  the  Loch  Lavon.  I  took  it,  and  then 
steered  him  down  to  Secretary  Francis's  private  car. 
When  I  told  him  whose  car  it  was,  and  he  saw  the  way 
the  Loch  Lavon  was  pocketed,  I  thought  he  would 
jump  up  in  the  air  and  burst.  He  stormed  up  to  the 
engineer  on  the  Secretary's  train  and  ordered 
that  they  pull  him  out  and  down  to  Springfield  at 
once.  You  can  imagine  how  quickly  they  followed 
his  orders,  even  if  he  does  own  the  road.  Then  he 
went  into  Secretary  Francis's  car,  and  they've  been 
at  it  for  the  last  half  hour.  Kerrison  rages,  and  the 
Secretary  of  State  laughs.  Tells  him  he  can  do  noth 
ing  until  you  return." 

Chief  Hilkie  hurried  down  the  track  and  boarded 
the  car  of  Secretary  of  State  Francis,  the  cherubic- 
faced  little  fellow  who  had  pulled  into  Carldale  on  a 
special  train  just  after  the  chief's  arrival  in  the  early 
evening. 

As  Chief  Hilkie  opened  the  door  into  the  drawing- 
room,  he  saw  J.  J.  Kerrison  pacing  up  and  down  the 
aisle,  while  Secretary  Francis  sat  back  in  a  comfort 
able  chair  with  his  hands  complacently  folded  across  a 
generous  paunch,  watching  the  old  gold  king  with  a 
smile  on  his  face. 

"  It's  an  all-fired  outrage,"  Kerrison  was  snarling. 
"  This  is  my  railroad,  and  you  come  in  here,  pocket 


254     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

my  car  as  though  it  were  you  owned  the  road,  and  re 
fuse  to  pull  me  out." 

"  Public  utilities,  I  believe,"  smiled  the  Secretary, 
"  are  always  subject  to  government  ordeis  in  case  of 
emergency." 

"  Government  orders !  Bosh !  "  answered  Kerri- 
son.  "  Government  arrogance !  "  Then  he  turned  at 
the  sound  of  a  door  closing  and  saw  Chief  Hilkie. 

For  an  instant  Kerrison  halted  in  his  angry  pacing 
back  and  forth.  A  fleeting,  hunted  look  overspread 
his  ivory  features,  his  sharp  nose  turned  to  the  right 
and  then  to  the  left,  as  if  his  eyes  were  reluctant  to 
meet  those  of  the  Secret  Service  chief.  Then  his  tall 
form  bent  a  trifle,  and  the  oily  demeanor  he  could  so 
easily  assume  upon  occasion  replaced  his  attitude  of 
soured  anger. 

"  You  see  I  spare  no  efforts  to  keep  my  appoint 
ments,"  said  the  chief  meaningly. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Kerrison,  placing  one  hand  on 
the  chief's  arm  and  grasping  his  palm  with  the  other. 
"  An  entirely  unexpected  business  matter  called  me  to 
Craggmorie.  In  the  hurry  of  getting  away,  our  ap 
pointment  for  nine  o'clock  at  the  Waldorf  yesterday 
morning  slipped  my  mind  entirely.  I  offer  my 
humble  apologies.  My  secretary  is  asleep  in  the 
Loch  Lavon,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  arouse  him 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK        255 

and  see  that  the  order  to  my  mine  superintendent  that 
you  asked  for  last  evening  is  made  out  without  de- 
lay." 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Kerrison,  I  am  sure,"  an 
swered  the  chief.  "  But,  first,  there  is  a  question  or 
two  I  should  like  to  ask  you  regarding  a  matter  that 
may  have  some  bearing  on  the  counterfeiting  case  I 
told  you  about  in  the  men's  cafe  at  the  Waldorf  on 
Monday  evening." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  glad  to  extend  any  informa 
tion  I  can,"  said  Kerrison,  as  both  he  and  the  chief 
took  seats. 

"  Who  is  '  Gold,  Vermont  ? '  ''  snapped  the  chief 
suddenly,  before  the  tall  old  man  before  him  fairly 
had  an  opportunity  to  relax  against  the  crimson  cush 
ions  of  his  chair. 

"  '  Gold,  Vermont,'  "  repeated  Kerrison  smoothly, 
"  is  a  code  name  under  which  we  sometimes  receive 
wireless  messages  from  one  of  our  mining  engineers  in 
northern  Canada.  As  you  know,  of  course,  it  is  neces 
sary  for  us  to  be  somewhat  secretive  about  our  pros 
pecting  ventures  until  we  have  securely  filed  our 
claims.  Otherwise,  they  might  be  pre-empted  before 
we  really  owned  the  mines.  For  that  reason  our 
messages  usually  come  through  in  a  sort  of  code.  I 
presume  you  have  gotten  hold  of  one ;  if  you  will  let 


256     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

me  see  it,  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  translate  it 
for  you."  The  old  man  drew  out  his  glasses,  held 
out  one  hand,  and  tilted  up  his  chin  toward  the  chief 
in  the  most  unassuming,  yet  insinuating  manner 
imaginable. 

A  cheerful  smile  played  about  the  face  of  Secre 
tary  Francis  as  Kerrison  made  his  elaborate  explana 
tion,  while  the  keen  eyes  of  Chief  Hilkie  never  left 
the  old  gold  king's  face  for  a  single  instant. 

"  Yes,  that  explains  that  matter.  Now  who  is 
'  Solari  '  ?  " 

The  ingratiating  smile  never  left  Kerrison's  ivory 
features,  but  this  time  he  was  forced  to  utter  two  lit 
tle  hoarse  staccato  coughs,  like  the  cry  of  a  fox,  be 
fore  he  could  answer  the  chief's  last  question. 

"  Let  me  see.  '  Solari,'  "  repeated  Kerrison,  hesi 
tating.  "  I  believe  that  is  the  code  name  of  a  young 
man  we  have  employed  for  some  time  named  Spring- 
vale.  Yes,  Thomas  Springvale.  He  is  an  exceed 
ingly  capable  mining  engineer  who  is  doing  excellent 
work  for  us  up  in  Canada.  I  have  been  expecting  to 
hear  from  Springvale  for  some  time,  and  have  been 
greatly  worried  that  word  has  not  come  through." 
Again  Kerrison  held  out  his  hand  insinuatingly  to 
ward  the  paper  Hilkie  held  so  tantalizingly  in  his 
hand. 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK   257 

The  chief  found  it  difficult  to  restrain  an  exclama 
tion  of  satisfaction.  "  Now  I  know  lie  is  lying,"  he 
thought.  "  Springvale  has  been  dead  for  weeks,  and 
this  message  came  through  to-night."  Aloud  he  said 
nothing,  but  handed  the  message  to  Kerrison. 

The  old  man  read  it  slowly  over  the  tops  of  his 
glasses. 

"  Yes,  yes,  nothing  very  complicated  here,"  he 
said.  "  This  probably  refers  to  some  ore  samples 
we  were  expecting.  I  will  interpret  it  for  you, 
Chief  Hilkie.  '  Kerrison,  Vermont.  Last  order 
of  ore  samples  from  Prospect  #32  burned  in  Little 
Babos  camp.  Will  duplicate.  Springvale,  Canada.' 
That  is  practically  all  it  amounts  to." 

Kerrison  looked  up  innocently  over  his  glasses  to 
ward  the  chief  as  he  continued: 

"  Really,  Chief  Hilkie,  I  fail  to  see  how  this  mes 
sage  can  interest  you  and  what  possible  bearing  it  can 
have  on  your  case.  Jt  is,  well,  really,  Chief,  it  is  a 
trivial  matter  of  slight  consequence  to  us,  and  of  no 
consequence  whatever  to  any  one  else,"  he  tossed  the 
paper  aside  as  though  it  were  a  burnt  match. 

Heretofore  the  chiefs  manner  had  been  all  defer 
ential  politeness.  Now  he  assumed  a  more  aggres 
sive  air  as  he  sneered : 

"  Mr.  Kerrison,  your  explanation  does  not  explain. 


258     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

It  is  impossible  for  this  message  to  have  been  sent  by 
Tom  Springvale,  because  Tom  Springvale  died  in 
-  Vermont  weeks  ago ;  two  of  my  men  removed  the 
body  to  his  home  in  Duluth.  It  is  strange  you  did 
not  know  of  this ;  I  think  his  obituary  was  printed  in 
both  your  papers." 

If  the  chief  expected  to  confuse  Kerrison  by  sud 
denly  confronting  him  with  this  fact,  he  was  mis 
taken.  The  gold  king  merely  smiled  a  trifle  more 
tolerantly  as  he  said : 

"  You  must  be  mistaken  about  that,  Chief.  I  am 
certain  the  real  Springvale  is  alive  and  well,  or  was 
at  the  hour  this  message  was  sent." 

Chief  Hilkie  was  far  too  shy  of  actual  facts  to 
press  that  matter  any  further.  He  also  realized  the 
utter  futility  of  further  questioning  a  man  who  had 
so  little  respect  for  the  truth  and  no  difficulty  in  pro 
ducing  a  plausible  explanation  to  any  question  that 
might  be  fired  at  him.  In  addition  the  chief  disliked 
to  show  too  much  of  his  hand  at  the  present  time,  so 
he  dropped  the  matter  of  the  most  recent  message. 
He  had  one  more  trump  card,  and  he  resolved  to  play 
that.  He  produced  from  his  pocket  the  first  mes 
sage  to  "  Gold,  Vermont "  that  had  been  received  at 
Craggmorie  before  Levering's  employment  and  read 
it  aloud: 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK        259 

"  Will  you  kindly  tell  me,  Mr.  Kerrison,  what  this 
message  means: 

"'Gold,  Vermont: 

"  '  Ithite  vein  running  low.  Last  new  tunnel  at  sixty  foot 
level  entirely  barren.  Advise  us  exact  amount  needed  to  com 
plete  work  as  per  original  plan. 

"  '  SOLAM.'  " 

At  last  the  look  of  oily  affability  left  the  counte 
nance  of  J.  J.  Kerrison,  the  veins  in  his  forehead 
swelled,  and  his  seamed  features  became  fairly  purple 
with  rage.  He  arose  to  his  feet  as  if  he  were  about 
to  strike  the  chief,  then  caught  himself  under  con 
trol  as  he  cried  angrily : 

"  Chief  Hilkie,  I  did  not  expect  this  of  you.  It  is 
not  honorable  conduct.  You  have  been  tampering 
with  my  former  wireless  operator.  I  discharged  the 
rascal  ten  days  ago  for  incompetence.  He  seems  to 
have  kept  a  transcript  of  my  messages  and  to  have 
sold  them  to  you.  Under  the  circumstances  I  refuse 
absolutely  to  explain.  Notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
that  message  is  of  no  consequence  whatever,  is  as  in 
nocent  as  the  other,  I  refuse  absolutely  to  explain  it, 
absolutely,  sir." 

The  tall,  thin  old  man  stalked  angrily  down  the 
aisle  of  the  car  and  left  it  without  saying  a  word  of 
farewell  to  either  Secretary  of  State  Francis  or  Chief 


260     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Hilkie.  As  they  watched  him  take  his  departure, 
both  men  realized  that  the  recent  little  conversational 
tilt  with  the  gold  king  had  left  victory  entirely  on  his 
side.  They  knew  nothing  that  they  had  not  known 
before.  On  the  other  hand,  if  old  J.  J.  were  actually 
mixed  up  in  Case  BM432,  he  was  now  aware  that 
Chief  Hilkie  suspected  him  and  the  grounds  for  it. 

The  door  of  the  Secretary  of  State's  private  car 
had  scarcely  closed  behind  J.  J.  Kerrison  when  it 
opened  again  to  admit  Beck,  Hilkie's  chief  assistant, 
whom  he  had  left  up  at  the  Craggmorie  wireless  sta 
tion  with  Martin  and  Levering,  the  operator. 

Beck  was  breathing  like  a  spent  runner.  Between 
panting  intakes  of  breath  he  cried  to  the  chief: 

"  You're  wanted  up  at  Craggmorie,  Chief.  Some 
body  trying  to  get  you  on  the  wireless.  I  comman 
deered  one  of  Kerrison's  cars  and  hurried  here  as  fast 
as  I  could." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  New  York  ?  "  snapped  the  chief, 
jumping  to  his  feet. 

"  Don't  know,  but  don't  think  so,"  answered  Beck. 
"  They  refuse  to  say  anything  until  they  receive  an 
authentic  return  from  you." 

"  I'd  better  run  up  to  Craggmorie  in  the  car  at 
once,"  said  Hilkie  to  Secretary  Francis. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  rotund  little  man  with 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK   261 

an  appetite  for  nickel  novels.  "  And  I'm  going  with 
you;  this  is  far  too  interesting  to  miss  any  part  of 
it." 

Five  minutes  later  Kerrison's  commandeered 
motor-car  carrying  the  chief,  Beck,  and  Secretary  of 
State  Francis  was  again  jolting  up  the  road  toward 
Craggmorie  at  top  speed.  It  was  daylight  now,  and 
they  banged  through  all  the  Vermont  speed  laws  with 
reckless  abandon. 


XX 

ENGULFING   WATEES 

UPON  arriving  back  at  Argyle  House  after  visit 
ing  the  power  station,  Jensen  found  the  place 
in  confusion.  The  half  dozen  Chinese  servants  were 
beset  with  a  panic  of  fear.  With  the  exception  of  the 
ever  smiling  Mon  Toy,  it  appeared  virtually  impos 
sible  to  expect  sane  action  from  any  of  them. 

Stephen  Mallabee  raged  among  them,  trying  to  di 
rect  the  gathering  of  his  personal  effects  in  order  that 
they  might  be  transported  to  the  cliffs  before  the  dam 
burst  and  Black  Devil's  Bed  was  flooded.  His  usu 
ally  effective  pidgin-English,  however,  now  seemed 
to  convey  no  meaning  to  their  scattered  wits.  He 
persistently  tried  to  explain  that  it  was  clothing  and 
his  valuable  papers  that  he  wanted  packed,  but  they 
as  persistently  tried  to  gather  together  the  household 
stores ;  one  would  run  forward  with  some  trifle  like  a 
pot  of  orange  marmalade,  another  with  a  handful  or 
two  of  tea  in  a  cloth  bag.  Their  stomachs,  as  always, 
were  the  prime  consideration;  beyond  those  they 
could  neither  think  nor  see, 


ENGULFING  WATERS         263 

"No!  No!  No!"  shouted  Mallabee,  as  Ah 
Long  the  butler  came  up  and  thrust  a  recently  used 
aluminum  skillet  in  among  a  lot  of  valuable  engineer 
ing  drawings  he  was  gathering.  "  No  can  take ! 
Plenty  eat,  plenty  stores,  tea,  coffee,  much  everything, 
up  on  cliff  top  now.  You  go  bring  clothes,  chop, 
chop.  Nothing  else.  Just  clothes.  You  under 
stand?" 

He  turned  to  Jensen  as  Ah  Long  trotted  off  and 
added :  "  These  blessed  children  can't  seem  to  get  it 
through  their  thick  skulls  that  the  wireless  pit  up 
above  on  the  cliff  is  stored  with  everything  needed 
for  several  weeks'  stay  there.  All  we  can  hope  to 
save  here  is  our  personal  belongings  and  a  few  of  my 
most  valuable  books  and  papers.  The  rest  will  have 
to  go.  Curse  those  drunken  beasts;  what  an  arrant 
fool  any  man  is  to  plan  with  success  or  failure  hing 
ing  on  the  actions  of  such  miserable  material  as  they 
are! 

"  How  did  you  find  things  at  the  power-house  ? " 
he  continued.  "  Were  any  of  those  poor  fellows  left 
alive?" 

Jensen  told  Mallabee  of  what  had  happened  at  the 
power-house.  This  drove  the  old  man  off  into  an 
other  fit  of  wild  rage  against  the  miners.  Finally  he 
became  calmer,  and  Jensen  assisted  him  in  gathering 


264     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

his  things  together,  while  Peter  Saint,  with  the  threat 
ening  aid  of  a  dog  whip,  managed  to  produce  a  more 
rational  effort  from  the  Chinese.  This  blind  habitan, 
who  moved  about  almost  as  well  as  men  with  perfect 
eyesight,  seemed  to  possess  a  sort  of  fascination  for 
the  Chinese  "  boys." 

At  last  everything  Mallabee  desired  most  to  pre 
serve  was  gathered  and  prepared  for  transportation. 
Then  he  began  shouting  about  the  house  for  his 
daughter. 

Kerry  Mallabee's  first  question  when  she  came  in, 
dressed  for  outdoors,  was  for  brave  Dick  Evans,  and 
she  could  not  hold  back  the  tears  when  Jensen  told  her 
of  his  gallant  conduct  and  untimely  end  at  the  hands 
of  the  drink-crazed  miners. 

As  she  listened,  her  sad  eyes  were  fastened  on  her 
father's  face,  and  Jensen  could  not  help  but  catch  the 
impression  that  she  was  holding  Mallabee  in  some 
measure  responsible  for  the  present  terrible  condi 
tion  of  affairs.  To  be  sure  there  was  little  ground 
for  Jensen  to  go  upon  in  gathering  such  an  idea,  and 
he  realized  that  his  feeling  toward  her  might  be 
largely  responsible  for  it;  yet  the  impression  per 
sisted. 

After  a  moment  of  racking  sobs,  Kerry  Mallabee 
pulled  herself  together. 


ENGULFING  WATERS         265 

"  Come,"  she  said  to  the  Chinese  servants,  who  were 
bunched  together,  shivering  with  terror,  in  a  corner, 
"  we  must  lose  no  time,  but  get  to  the  cliff  at  once." 

Without  the  remotest  idea  of  the  true  nature  of 
what  was  really  impending,  the  Chinese  were  like  rab 
bits  in  their  fear,  willing  to  run  anywhere  so  long  as  it 
was  running,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  loaded  with 
packs,  they  were  glad  to  start  for  the  cliff.  Led  by 
Peter  Saint,  the  team  dogs,  also  loaded,  and  the  intelli 
gent  Babe,  who  occasionally  dropped  back  and  at 
tempted  to  accelerate  the  pace  of  the  Chinese  "  boys  " 
by  snapping  at  their  heels,  they  scuttled  off  with  their 
burdens.  Jensen,  Kerry  Mallabee,  and  her  father 
followed,  after  bidding  a  last  good-by  to  Argyle 
House. 

It  was  getting  well  on  toward  morning.  The  moon 
had  vanished;  but  the  myriad  stars  that  dotted  the 
sky  made  the  pathway  to  the  cliff  almost  as  clear  as 
at  noonday. 

Kerry  Mallabee,  being  more  familiar  with  the  way, 
went  first.  Jensen  followed  close  behind  her,  and 
Stephen  Mallabee  brought  up  the  rear.  A  dozen 
times  Mallabee  halted  to  look  fondly  back  on  the 
peaceful  scene  below  and  to  break  out  in  maledictions 
on  the  heads  of  the  miners  who  were  even  now  work 
ing  to  destroy  his  home. 


266     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

The  stillness  about  was  complete.  Off  to  the  right, 
the  lights  in  the  power-house  continued  to  burn 
brightly,  but  the  hum  of  the  generators  was  stilled 
from  this  distance.  The  lights  of  Argyle  House 
shone  cheerfully  forth,  and  there  was  no  single  note  in 
this  ideally  perfect  scene  to  indicate  the  destruction 
being  prepared  for  it  above  the  falls. 

The  hurried  preparations  for  attaining  the  cliffs 
had  taken  but  a  short  time,  and  Jensen  considered 
it  would  be  at  least  half  an  hour  yet  before  the  miners 
could  explode  their  dynamite  at  the  dam. 

The  uphill  climb  was  hard,  and  the  three  people 
had  paused  to  rest  a  moment,  silently  gazing  down 
into  the  depths  of  Black  Devil's  Bed,  when  suddenly 
their  ear  drums  were  smitten  with  a  terrific  explosion, 
and  the  ground  beneath  them  heaved  and  swayed  so 
violently  that  they  staggered  and  fell. 

Their  stunned  brains  had  scarcely  recovered  from 
the  shock  and  concussion  of  the  first  explosion,  when 
there  came  another,  even  more  violent,  and  a  great, 
ugly,  mushrooming  column  of  thick,  black  smoke  spit 
itself  up  into  the  star-spangled  sky  off  to  the  north 
west. 

"  They've  done  it,"  groaned  Stephen  Mallabee,  as 
he  recovered  from  the  shock  and  arose  to  his  feet. 
"  It  took  me  three  years,  with  the  best  engineering 


ENGULFING  WATERS         267 

skill  money  could  hire  and  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds  in  money,  to  build  that  dam.  Now 
fifty  pigeon-brained  larrikins  with  thirty  pounds 
worth  of  '  forty  per  cent.'  have  scrapped  the  whole 
thing  beyond  repair  in  an  hour.  It  almost  makes  a 
man  believe  there  is  no  God." 

For  perhaps  five  minutes  following  the  two  explo 
sions  there  was  no  sound.  The  stillness  was  so  deep 
it  almost  hurt  their  ears.  Then,  suddenly,  the  three 
people  standing  there  were  aware  of  a  dull,  sullen 
roar,  like  some  world  in  sore  travail,  at  first  low,  then 
increasing  until  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  their  own 
earth  moaning  with  pain.  The  ominous  sound  com 
pletely  filled  the  air,  fairly  made  their  brains  hum 
with  its  terrible  intensity  and  soul-grinding  power. 
Instinctively  their  eyes  turned  toward  the  falls. 

There  was  nothing  untoward  to  be  seen  there,  only 
the  tiny  glistening  ribbon  of  star-flecked  water,  drop 
ping  silently  and  smoothly,  like  a  fluttering  bridal 
veil,  dotted  here  and  there  with  white  specks  of 
spume  that  reflected  the  stars'  cold  glow.  Cease 
lessly  and  beautifully  it  flowed  down  beside  the  cir 
cular  turbine  tower,  its  final  drop  hid  by  the  uprising 
curtain  of  warm,  feathery  mist  it  created  anew  each 
moment  as  it  fell. 

Then,  suddenly,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  vault  of 


268     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

blue  above  had  burst.  A  gigantic  wall  of  black  water 
hung  for  one  single  instant  at  the  summit  of  the  falls 
and  then  dropped.  With  a  mighty,  thundering  crash 
that  made  all  previous  sound  seem  pitifully  puny,  it 
filled  the  hollow  of  Black  Devil's  Bed,  and  they  saw 
the  flood  pick  up  Argyle  House  as  though  the  great 
building  were  but  a  cockle  burr,  toss  it  about  in  gi 
gantic  playfulness,  and  then  whirl  it  madly  toward 
the  lower  outlet  of  the  canyon  to  dash  it  repeatedly 
against  the  walls  until  the  timbers  cracked  and  the 
house  burst  and  became  a  million  splinters  of  useless 
wood. 

Within  a  space  of  less  than  sixty  seconds  what  had 
been  a  perfectly  equipped  mining  camp  became  a 
whirlpool  of  tumbling  water,  racing  madly  toward 
the  outlet.  Black  Devil's  Bed  was  now  a  lake,  the 
tiny  falls  a  thundering  torrent  two  hundred  feet 
across. 

The  three  people  stood  silent  with  staring  eyes. 
Stephen  Mallabee  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  God  in  heaven,  what  is  that  ?  "  he  cried,  bending 
down  and  pointing  a  lean  finger  toward  something  in 
the  water,  tossing  this  way  and  that  just  below  where 
they  stood. 

Jensen  and  Kerry  Mallabee  looked  where  he 
pointed.  They  could  make  out  what  seemed  to  be  a 


ENGULFING  WATERS         269 

man  struggling  in  the  water.  As  if  perpetrating 
some  grim  joke,  the  whirling  flood  suddenly  flung 
this  plaything  upon  the  sloping  trail  a  few  feet  below 
them.  Jensen  descended  to  where  it  lay. 

It  was  his  old  friend  Blue  Mackinaw,  lying  there 
with  pasty  features  and  staring,  unseeing  eyes.  One 
arm  of  the  dead  man  was  missing,  and  a  leg  had  been 
severed  at  the  knee.  Now  that  he  was  nearer  the 
water  line,  Jensen  could  see  more  than  a  score  of 
mutilated  forms,  legs,  arms,  hands,  and  heads,  being 
tossed  in  the  eddies  and  whirlpools  among  the  patches 
of  mush  ice. 

The  voice  of  Stephen  Mallabee  spoke  close  to  Jen 
sen's  ear,  his  tones  sad  and  broken  in  contrast  to  the 
man's  usual  masterful  and  aggressive  manner  of 
speech. 

"  You  see  ?  "  said  Mallabee,  pointing  to  the  grisly, 
floating  objects  racing  past,  "  I  doubt  if  a  single 
miner  has  escaped.  In  detonating  their  own  dyna 
mite,  they  exploded  every  one  of  my  mines  with  the 
shock.  No  man  would  live  within  a  hundred  feet  of 
those  terrific  charges  and  the  fusillading  blocks  of 
cement ;  yet  the  Swedes  probably  knew  no  better  than 
to  stand  directly  over  my  mines.  Thus  is  pig 
headed  ignorance  always  its  own  undoing." 

For  a  moment  they  stood  there  watching  the  water 


270     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

bear  its  burden  of  maimed  forms  past  them  toward 
the  outlet.  Judging  by  the  number  of  bodies,  it  did 
not  look  as  if  any  of  the  miners  had  missed  death  in 
the  explosion.  Sickened  with  the  sight,  they  finally 
went  toward  the  cliff  top. 

Gaining  the  cliff,  Jensen  walked  beside  Stephen 
Mallabee  toward  the  two  tall,  wireless  masts  that 
could  be  seen  sharply  silhouetted  against  the  sky  a 
short  distance  ahead.  Kerry  Mallabee  had  either 
gone  on  before  or  was  lingering  somewhere  in  the 
rear,  Jensen  did  not  know  which. 

The  old  man's  face  was  seamed  with  sorrow,  his 
head  sunk  forward  as  he  walked. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  thing  for  the  lives  of  men  to  be 
snuffed  out  so  suddenly,"  he  said,  "  even  such  stub 
born,  brainless  brutes  as  those  miners  were.  In  my 
anger,  I  thought  I  was  ready  to  send  them  to  their 
death  myself,  but  I  couldn't  have  done  it.  To  think 
of  such  purposeless  death  affects  me  deeply." 

As  they  came  nearer  to  the  wireless  masts,  Jensen 
saw  that  they  were  supported  entirely  by  guy  wires, 
and  that  each  rested  with  a  ball  and  socket  joint  upon 
an  insulated  base  sunk  in  a  solid  cement  foundation. 
He  remarked  upon  the  peculiarity  to  Mallabee. 

"It  is  my  own  improvement  upon  the  German 
Telefunken  system,"  explained  Mallabee.  "  You 


ENGULFING  WATERS         271 

will  see  a  comfortable  underground  home  here.  I 
found  it  difficult  to  dispatch  wireless  with  ordinary 
instruments  on  the  three-step  system  in  the  extremely 
cold  and  peculiarly  damp  air  here  beside  our  warm 
river,  so  I  built  an  underground  house  of  cement  to 
obtain  an  equable  temperature,  and  I  use  instruments 
largely  of  my  own  invention.  Mine  has  many  im 
provements  over  any  other  wireless  system ;  yet  I  had 
expected  to  go  much  further.  Kerry  has  been  my 
chief  operator.  We  send  five  thousand  miles  without 
difficulty  in  good  weather." 

They  found  Peter  Saint,  the  dogs,  and  the  Chinese 
house-servants  already  at  the  wireless  station,  and 
Stephen  Mallabee  showed  Jensen  through  a  cleverly 
constructed  underground  home  that,  though  much 
smaller,  was  not  far  behind  Argyle  House  in  the  com 
forts  it  afforded.  Huge  storage  batteries  produced 
ample  current  for  the  wireless,  for  light,  and  for  cul 
inary  purposes. 

"  I  was  always  prepared  to  abandon  Argyle  House, 
you  see,"  said  Mallabee,  pointing  to  the  storage  bat 
teries,  as  he  reached  up  with  the  other  hand  and 
snapped  off  several  of  the  lights,  "  but  we  must  be 
extremely  economical  of  our  current,  now  that  our 
power  station  is  gone.  These  are  ithite  batteries, 
an  invention  of  my  own,  and  very  powerful ;  but  they 


272     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

cannot  last  forever,  and  now  we  have  no  means  of  re 
charging  them." 

They  took  seats  in  what  appeared  to  be  the  living- 
room  of  the  underground  home. 

"  We  shall  remain  here  but  a  short  time,"  con 
tinued  Mallabee.  "  My  yacht  is  always  cruising  in 
the  vicinity  of  Ungava  Bay,  during  the  open  season, 
and  Kerry  will  get  in  touch  with  them  on  the  wireless 
as  soon  as  she  comes  in.  They  will  send  a  relief 
party  down  and  take  us  out.  I  wonder  where  Kerry 
can  have  disappeared  to  ? "  he  added  rather  petul 
antly. 

"  I  think  she  must  have  remained  behind  watching 
the  falls,"  answered  Jensen.  "  The  destruction  of 
Argyle  House  appeared  to  affect  her  deeply.  It  was 
an  awful  thing  to  witness, —  her  home  vanishing  in 
an  instant." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mallabee.  "  Trouble  piled  upon 
trouble,  like  Pelion  upon  Ossa.  You  have  found  us 
in  nothing  but  trouble  since  you  arrived,  Kerrison.  I 
am  sorry  indeed  that  our  welcome  had  to  be  so  brutal. 
At  least,  we  can  send  you  back  in  comparative  com 
fort.  I  presume  you  will  prefer  to  return  to  the 
States  over  the  same  route  by  which  you  came.  We 
can  outfit  you  with  dogs  and  komatic  and  give  you 
Babe  and  Peter  Saint  for  guides;  no  one  knows  the 


ENGULFING  WATERS         273 

trail  along  my  camps  from  here  to  Lake  Lucann  and 
on  to  Quebec  better  than  those  two,  for  all  the  man 
is  blind.  The  recent  storm  was  an  unusually  early 
one,  and  you  should  have  good  weather  returning." 

Jensen  scarcely  knew  what  to  say  in  answer  to  this 
hospitable  offer.  He  realized  that  in  it  lay  his  sole 
hope  of  getting  back ;  yet  the  thought  of  what  he  was 
returning  for, —  to  add  to  Mallabee's  trouble  and  sor 
row,  to  denounce  this  wonderful  old  man  as  a  maker 
of  counterfeit  coin,  disturbed  him. 

His  heart  was  racked  with  indecision;  he  could 
only  stammer  halting  thanks  for  Mallabee's  generous 
offer  and  leave  the  matter  still  hanging  in  the  air. 
At  the  moment  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  accept  and 
retain  his  self-respect.  "  Yet,"  he  thought,  "  what 
else  was  there  to  do;  where  did  run  the  path  of 
honor  ?  " 

Stephen  Mallabee  excused  himself  for  a  moment  to 
go  to  the  wireless  room,  and  Jensen  sat  there  alone 
thinking  of  the  peculiar  position  in  which  his  dis 
covery  at  Argyle  House  had  placed  him.  It  was 
maddening  in  its  conflicting  features,  urging  him  this 
way  and  then  turning  him  toward  some  directly  oppo 
site  course.  He  arose  and  paced  back  and  forth  in  a 
ferment  of  indecision. 

He  thought  of  brave  Dick  Evans,  dying  and  with 


274     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

a  broken  arm,  standing  up  and  holding  death  at  bay 
until  his  message  of  warning  should  be  received  and 
understood  at  Argyle  House.  He  thought  of  Peter 
Saint  and  his  wonderful  dash  into  the  burning  Little 
Babos  cabin ;  of  all  that  Kerry  Mallabee  had  done  to 
save  his  life  when  his  brain  was  beset  with  delirium 
and  his  blood  filled  with  the  terrible  germs  of  sep- 
ticemia. 

"  God !  "  he  cried.  "  How  could  any  man  with 
a  human  heart  in  his  breast  and  honor  in  his  soul 
turn  on  them  now?  I  can't  do  it!  I  simply  can't 
do  it. 

"  And  yet,  and  yet,"  he  thought,  "  loyalty  to  the 
Service;  loyalty  to  his  own  United  States!  Were 
they  not  greater  than  all  else  in  the  world?  Could 
any  man  bear  to  live  who  had  failed  in  loyalty  to 
his  native  land  ?  " 

"  Could  any  man  live  —  could  any  man  live  " — 
he  found  the  sentence  racing  a  repeated  course 
through  his  bewildered  brain,  as  he  stood  with 
clenched  fists  and  unseeing,  staring  eyes.  "  That 
was  it;  could  a  man  continue  to  live  in  honor  in 
either  case  ? " 

He  dashed  up  and  into  the  outer  air  in  a  tumult 
of  emotion.  He  would  find  Kerry  Mallabee,  tell 
her  all,  and  then  death  in  the  waters  of  Black  Devil's 


ENGULFING  WATERS         275 

Bed.     It  was  the  only  thing,  the  only  course  open 
with  honor  clear  ahead. 

He  ran  toward  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  saw  her 
standing  there,  alone. 


XXI 

THE    FEOZEN    MAN 

KERRY  MALLABEE'S  back  was  turned  to 
ward  him;  she  did  not  hear  his  footsteps  on 
the  snow-covered  ground.  Jensen  had  almost  gained 
her  side  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  his  eyes 
caught  sight  of  several  dark  figures  moving  far 
down  the  trail  over  which  he  had  come  to  Camp 
Argyle.  His  first  thought  was  that  it  must  be  some 
of  the  Swedes  who  had  miraculously  escaped  the 
fury  of  the  explosion  when  the  dam  above  Black 
Devil  Falls  was  blown  up. 

A  second  look  convinced  him  that  the  people  com 
ing  were  not  miners.  One  was  an  Indian,  the  other 
two  were  white  men  with  gaunt,  skull-like  faces. 
Kerry  Mallabee  had  seen  them  now;  she  was  hurry 
ing  forward.  Jensen  ran  on  close  behind  her,  aware 
that  the  approaching  people  were  in  great  distress. 

One  of  the  white  men  stopped  and  weakly  shouted 
something;  then  he  fell  forward  on  his  face.  The 
other  man  staggered  on  blindly,  barely  able  to  move. 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  277 

The  Indian  appeared  in  better  physical  condition  and 
kept  on  running.  Before  Kerry  Mallabee  and  Jen 
sen  could  reach  them,  the  second  white  man  was  on 
his  hands  and  knees,  making  painful  progress;  a 
moment  later  he,  too,  gave  up,  lurched  forward,  and 
lay  still. 

"  Who  can  they  be  ? "  shouted  Jensen  in  Kerry 
Mallabee's  ear,  as  they  raced  down  the  trail.  All 
thought  of  his  own  recent  troubles  were  forgotten  in 
this  new  excitement. 

"  I  haven't  any  idea,"  she  answered.  "  But  they 
must  have  had  a  terrible  journey;  they  look  thor 
oughly  beat  out." 

They  reached  the  Indian  first.  He  was  an  old 
man,  his  brown  face  seamed  with  wrinkles ;  his  cloth 
ing  was  cheap  and  thin,  yet  he  appeared  to  be  suffer 
ing  more  from  starvation  than  with  the  cold.  He 
stopped,  pointed  repeatedly  to  his  mouth,  and  rubbed 
his  hollow  stomach,  mouthing  an  unintelligible  gib 
berish  the  only  understandable  word  of  which  was 
"  Hongry." 

"  Yes,  you  shall  soon  have  food,"  answered  Kerry 
Mallabee  reassuringly.  "  But  we  must  get  those 
other  two  men  up  and  help  them  toward  the  house." 
She  grasped  the  Indian's  arm  and  dragged  him  back 
to  where  one  of  the  white  men  lay  prone  upon  the 


278     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

snow-covered  ground.  Jensen  hurried  down  the  trail 
toward  the  other. 

Jensen  leaned  forward  and  turned  the  form  over. 
The  man's  eyes  were  open,  staring,  but  he  was  past 
all  human  aid.  His  foam-flecked  lips  and  frost- 
blackened  face  told  their  story  of  a  losing  fight 
against  storm  and  starvation.  Jensen  hurriedly 
thrust  his  hand  beneath  the  man's  clothing  and  felt 
for  his  heart ;  there  was  no  sign  of  a  beat ;  the  body 
was  cold.  He  stood  up  and  looked  back  toward  the 
others.  Kerry  Mallabee  and  the  Indian  had  assisted 
the  first  man  to  his  feet. 

"What's  the  matter;  is  that  man  unconscious?" 
Kerry  Mallabee  shouted  back  to  Jensen. 

"  Past  that,"  he  answered.     "  He  is  dead." 

"  Come  up  and  help  me  get  this  man  up  to  the 
house,"  cried  Kerry  Mallabee.  "  The  Indian  is 
useless;  he  can't  understand  anything  I  say." 

Jensen  ran  to  them  and  swung  his  own  arm  sup- 
portingly  beneath  the  arms  of  the  staggering  man. 
With  Kerry  Mallabee  supporting  the  fellow  on  the 
other  side,  they  started  toward  the  Mallabees'  under 
ground  home.  The  Indian  followed  like  an  animal, 
rubbing  his  stomach  and  moaning  the  single  word 
"  Hongry." 

The  white  man  they  assisted  was  a  burly  fellow, 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  279 

yet  he  appeared  weak  as  a  child.  His  discolored  face 
was  covered  with  a  two  weeks'  growth  of  beard.  He 
mumbled  incessantly  to  himself,  as  if  in  delirium; 
yet  he  apparently  had  no  fever. 

Stephen  Mallabee  had  either  heard  or  observed 
their  coming.  He  stepped  from  the  entrance  to  the 
underground  house  just  as  his  daughter  and  Jensen 
came  up. 

"  Good  God !  What  has  happened  ?  Who  is 
it  ?  "  he  cried  excitedly. 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  is,"  answered  his  daughter. 
"  There  were  three  of  them  came  up  Trail  Number 
One;  the  other  white  man  fell  dead  back  there  a 
little  way.  This  man  is  in  terrible  condition;  but 
I  think  he  can  be  saved.  The  Indian  is  all  right, 
except  for  hunger.  Call  Peter  Saint,  please,  father, 
and  tell  him  to  feed  the  Indian  carefully.  Peter 
will  know  how  to  handle  him." 

They  laid  the  white  man  upon  a  couch  in  the  liv 
ing-room.  Kerry  Mallabee  soon  had  a  cup  of  hot 
milk  and  brandy  ready  and  was  forcing  it  down  his 
throat  in  teaspoonful  doses.  She  had  taken  full  com 
mand,  and  both  Jensen  and  her  father  bustled  about 
filling  her  orders  like  obedient  nurses  in  a  hospital 
ward. 

The  man's  face  had  been  badly  frost-bitten,  as  had 


280     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

both  his  hands  and  feet.  Some  one  had  given  his 
limbs  attention,  and  they  were  wrapped  in  cloths. 
Jensen  unwound  the  wrappings,  under  Kerry  Malla- 
bee's  direction,  and  found  the  hands  in  fair  condi 
tion;  the  feet  were  not  doing  as  well.  He  washed 
and  dressed  both  members,  and  the  man  became  more 
comfortable.  He  ceased  his  querulous  mumblings 
and  willingly  took  the  milk  and  brandy  Kerry  Malla- 
bee  administered. 

While  Stephen  Mallabee  and  Jensen  stood  await 
ing  further  orders  from  Kerry,  Mon  Toy  came  in 
and  announced  that  breakfast  was  ready. 

"You  and  father  must  go  to  breakfast,"  said 
Kerry  to  Jensen.  "  After  you  have  finished,  come 
back  here,  Boy,  and  remain  with  this  sick  man  while 
I  take  my  breakfast.  Tell  Foon  Low  to  keep  plenty 
of  strong  coffee  smoking  hot  for  me ;  I  need  it  after 
this." 

The  frozen  man  had  been  in  a  horrible  condition, 
and  Kerry  Mallabee  was  white  with  the  sight  of  it ; 
yet  she  bravely  held  herself  together  and  waved  her 
father  and  Jensen  from  the  room  in  spite  of  their 
protests. 

After  breakfast,  Stephen  Mallabee  left  the  under 
ground  house  to  inspect  the  blown-up  dam,  and  Jen 
sen  returned  to  the  living-room  to  relieve  the  daugh- 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  281 

ter.  He  found  her  patient  had  fallen  asleep.  There 
was  a  strange  new  look  in  Kerry  Mallabee's  face  that 
he  could  not  fathom. 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  do  anything  but  sit  here 
and  watch,"  she  said.  "  If  he  awakens,  give  him  a 
tablespoonful  of  the  hot  milk  from  that  thermos, — 
never  more  than  a  tablespoonful  at  a  time.  If  any 
thing  occurs,  be  sure  to  summon  me.  Where  is 
father?" 

"  Your  father  has  just  gone  to  the  dam  above 
Black  Devil  Falls  to  ascertain  how  badly  it  has  been 
wrecked,"  answered  Jensen.  "  He  cannot  seem  to 
efface  the  death  of  those  Swedes  from  his  mind." 

"  Poor  father,  I  must  not  let  him  go  up  there 
alone,"  said  Kerry,  as  she  hurried  from  the  room. 

Jensen  drew  up  a  chair  beside  the  patient  and 
leaned  back,  so  wearied  both  mentally  and  physically 
he  could  scarcely  think.  He  was  like  a  man  who 
had  come  upon  a  blank  wall  at  the  end  of  a  fatiguing 
day's  journey  and  lacked  sufficient  ambition  to  dis 
cover  whether  he  might  surmount  it  or  go  around  it. 

Save  for  an  occasional  series  of  muffled  explosions 
in  the  near-by  wireless  room,  the  underground  house 
was  quiet.  Once  the  man  upon  the  couch  awoke. 
Jensen  fed  him  with  the  hot  milk  and  attempted  to 
question  him,  but  he  seemed  too  ill  or  too  exhausted 


282     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

to  comprehend ;  yet  Jensen  thought  there  was  a  more 
intelligent  look  in  his  face.  His  eyes  rested  for  a 
moment  on  Jensen's  features  and  upon  the  wound 
made  by  Blue  Mackinaw's  gun.  The  ill  man  mut 
tered  something,  and  Jensen  leaned  down  to  hear  it. 

The  single  clear  word  he  caught  sounded  like 
"  Springvale,"  although  Jensen  could  not  be  certain. 
This  gave  Jensen  the  idea  that  the  man  might  be 
connected  with  the  counterfeiting  scheme ;  yet  it  was 
strange  that  neither  Kerry  Mallabee  nor  her  father 
had  recognized  him,  if  this  were  the  case.  Still, 
starvation,  a  two  weeks'  beard,  and  frost-bitten  fea 
tures  will  alter  a  man's  appearance  greatly. 

The  patient,  after  listening  awhile  to  the  crackling 
explosions  in  the  wireless  room,  finally  dropped  off 
into  uneasy  slumber.  Jensen  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  to  await  Kerry  Mallabee's  return. 

How  long  he  had  sat  there  with  closed  eyes  he  did 
not  know,  but  he  suddenly  came  to  himself  with  a 
jump,  as  he  felt  some  one  grasp  his  arms  and  heard 
a  metallic  click  as  a  pair  of  steel  handcuffs  were 
snapped  upon  his  wrists. 

Jensen  opened  his  eyes  to  find  the  sick  man  had 
arisen  shakily  to  his  feet  and  was  standing  over  him, 
as  he  mumbled  thickly,  poking  an  automatic  against 
Jensen's  stomach: 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  283 

"  Shut  up,  damn  you ;  not  a  yip  or  I'll  shoot. 
Get  up  on  your  feet  and  gimme  a  shoulder.  I'm  as 
weak  as  a  —  a  rat.  Get  me  that  brandy  bottle." 

For  a  moment  Jensen  was  so  dazed  he  could 
neither  catch  what  the  man  was  attempting  to  say 
nor  comprehend  his  gestures.  Then,  as  the  fellow 
continued  to  point  a  wobbling  hand  toward  the 
brandy  bottle  standing  on  a  near  by  table,  Jensen 
reached  out  his  manacled  hands  and  secured  it  for 
him. 

The  man  tipped  up  the  bottle  and  let  the  raw 
liquid  run  down  his  throat.  This  appeared  to  give 
him  strength,  and  he  spoke  more  clearly. 

"  Now  give  me  a  shoulder  and  help  me  to  where 
that  wireless  instrument  is  located  that  has  been 
banging  away  ever  since  I  was  brought  in  here." 

Despite  the  fact  that  the  man  still  continued  to 
hold  the  automatic  to  his  stomach,  Jensen  hesitated. 
The  fellow  was  so  shaky  on  his  frozen  feet  that  the 
chances  of  knocking  the  gun  out  of  his  hand  before 
he  could  gather  his  weakened  muscles  to  press  the 
trigger  with  his  bandaged  hand  looked  more  than 
even. 

"  Come,  no  monkey  business ;  keep  quiet  and  do 
as  I  say,"  ordered  the  man,  as  he  noted  Jensen's 
hesitation. 


284     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Jensen  saw  the  fellow's  muscles  tighten  and  real 
ized  that  it  might  be  wise  to  do  as  he  asked.  Any 
way,  it  was,  apparently,  a  perfectly  harmless  re 
quest.  He  stood  up,  allowed  the  ill  man  to  lean  heav 
ily  on  him,  and  they  moved  toward  the  wireless  room. 

"Ugly!  Ugly!  Ugly!  That's  me,  that's  me," 
the  fellow  kept  repeating  in  a  thick  voice,  and  Jen 
sen  thought  he  was  becoming  delirious  again.  Yet, 
as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  front  of  the  wireless 
instruments,  he  acted  rational  enough.  He  fell  into 
a  chair,  snapped  the  receiver  over  his  head  with  one 
hand,  transferred  the  automatic  to  his  left  hand,  still 
keeping  Jensen  covered,  and  attempted  to  work  the 
sending  key.  To  Jensen  it  had  all  passed  so  rapidly 
and  was  so  strange  it  was  like  a  distorted  dream. 

With  his  partially  bandaged  right  hand  the  man 
found  it  difficult  to  manipulate  the  Morse  key.  He 
produced  a  few  brilliant  blue  sparks,  but  they  were 
unsatisfactory;  his  frozen  fingers  were  not  suffi 
ciently  under  brain  control.  He  still  kept  repeating 
"Ugly!  Ugly!  Ugly!" 

When  the  key  failed  to  move  as  he  wished,  the 
man  acted  dazed  and  brushed  one  hand  across  his 
eyes,  forgetting  to  keep  Jensen  covered  with  the  re 
volver.  Jensen  was  quick  to  see  his  chance.  He 
had  lifted  his  hands  to  bring  the  heavy  steel  manacles 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  285 

down  on  the  sick  man's  head,  when  he  caught  him 
self  and  hesitated. 

"To  what  end,"  he  thought.  "Why  should  I 
knock  the  fellow  senseless?  The  thing  is  becoming 
far  too  interesting;  I  will  wait  and  see  what  hap 
pens."  He  permitted  his  hands  to  drop  just  as  the 
man  turned.  He  sensed  what  Jensen  had  been 
about  to  do,  flung  up  both  arms  to  guard  his  head, 
and  then  let  them  fall  as  he  saw  there  was  no  danger. 

"  See  here,"  said  he.  "  If  I  remove  those  wristers, 
will  you  behave  and  help  me  send  a  message  on  this 
wireless  key  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Jensen.  "  I'll  be  glad  to. 
I  can't  imagine  what  you  put  them  on  for,  anyway. 
I  had  no  idea  of  harming  you,  and  I'm  not  a  crim 
inal." 

"  Never  you  mind  about  that,"  said  the  big  fellow, 
wagging  his  head  wisely.  "  I  know  what  I'm  doing ; 
betyer  life  on  that,  bo'." 

What  with  the  huge  drink  of  raw  brandy  he  had 
recently  poured  into  his  empty  stomach  and  his  ill 
ness  and  exhaustion,  the  man  appeared  to  Jensen  to 
be  not  far  from  drunk, 

Jensen  held  forward  his  wrists  to  have  the  hand 
cuffs  removed.  "  Now  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 
he  asked,  as  the  manacles  fell  to  the  floor. 


286     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Sit  in  this  chair  and  put  your  fingers  on  that 
key,  so,"  directed  the  big  man.  "  I'll  put  my  fist 
on  your  shoulder,  and  every  time  I  press  down  on 
your  shoulder,  you  work  that  key.  Try  it  now." 

He  stood  up,  and  Jensen  took  the  chair,  placing 
his  fingers  on  the  Morse  key.  In  his  schoolboy  days, 
Jensen  had  been  able  to  manipulate  a  Morse  tele 
graph  instrument,  and  he  automatically  fell  into  the 
proper  position,  with  easy  flexed  wrist.  But  all  idea 
of  the  alphabet  had  left  his  memory. 

"  They  been  calling  '  Ugly '  ever  since  I  came  in 
here,"  said  the  man.  "  That's  my  code  name.  I 
want  to  answer  them  and  get  '  Kin.'  See  ?  ISTow 
spell  it  out."  He  rested  his  bandaged  hand  on  Jen 
sen's  shoulder  and  began  to  alternately  press  down 
and  relax.  After  a  moment  the  blue  spark  jumped 
properly  in  answer  to  his  pressings,  and  the  fellow 
nodded  his  head  with  satisfaction  as  he  said : 

"  That's  the  stuff.  I  see  you've  worked  a  key  be 
fore.  Now  keep  her  singing.  (  Kin,  Kin,  Kin,'  I 
don't  get  anything  yet." 

"  I  am  Ugly,"  he  said  slowly  under  his  breath,  as 
he  pressed  out  the  letters  on  Jensen's  shoulder.  "  I 
want  Kin,  Kin,  Kin;  won't  take  anybody  else.  Get 
me  Kin  and  let  me  know  sure  it's  him.  Kin,  Kin, 
Kin." 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  287 

To  Jensen  sitting  there,  sending  the  message  as  the 
big  man  dictated,  it  was  the  most  puzzling  feature  he 
had  yet  encountered  since  his  arrival  at  Camp 
Argyle ;  it  made  him  forget  his  own  troubles  for  the 
moment,  and  he  became  as  acutely  interested  in  get 
ting  "  Kin  "  as  was  the  sick  man  standing  above  him. 

Off  three  feet  to  the  left  there  came  a  spark  of 
dazzling  blue  flame  every  time  he  pressed  the  Morse 
key,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  an  almost  constant 
snapping  discharge  of  currents  that  played  about  his 
head  like  so  many  flaming  gnats. 

Finally  the  man  broke  into  a  chuckle  of  satisfac 
tion,  as  he  muttered : 

"  Ah !  that's  more  like  it ;  they  get  me.  No"  he 
continued,  repeating  under  his  breath  the  message  he 
was  painfully  pounding  into  Jensen's  shoulder,  "  no, 
you  won't  do.  I  want  Kin,  and  for  God's  sake 
hurry." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  he  continued  to  repeat 
under  his  breath  the  message  that  was  coming  to  his 
ear. 

"  You'll  have  him  in  ten  minutes.  All  right,  but 
hurry,  hurry.  Tell  him  I'm  sending  under  extreme 
difficulties,  can't  hold  out  much  longer." 

The  man  removed  his  bandaged  fist  from  Jensen's 
shoulder  and  sank  down  into  a  chair,  as  he  begged: 


288     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  For  God's  sake,  get  me  that  brandy  bottle,  or  I 
won't  be  able  to  hang  on." 

Jensen  was  so  thoroughly  absorbed  in  this  strange 
drama  being  played  in  the  Camp  Argyle  wireless 
room  that  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  do  other  than 
as  the  man  requested.  He  was  also  extremely  curi 
ous  regarding  the  message  this  person  was  so  anxious 
to  send  out.  He  darted  to  the  living-room  and  se 
cured  the  bottle. 

The  fellow  took  another  huge  swallow,  shivered  in 
his  whole  great  frame,  and  then  sank  his  head  upon 
the  wireless  table,  as  he  muttered : 

"  That'll  pull  me  through,  if  they  hurry." 

For  many  silent,  tense  moments  they  waited.  The 
man  breathed  laboriously  and  gripped  the  table  with 
his  bandaged  hands,  as  he  strained  his  senses  to  catch 
the  first  word  of  answer  to  his  far-flung  call  for 
"  Kin." 

Once  he  glanced  up  at  Jensen  and  said :  "  Keep 
your  finger  on  that  key  ready  to  send  the  moment  we 
get  him.  My  head  is  spinning  like  a  top,  and  we 
haven't  any  time  to  waste." 

Jensen's  nerves  were  strained  almost  as  near  to  the 
breaking  point  as  were  the  sick  man's.  He  sat  before 
the  wireless  key  with  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  huge 
bulk  bent  over  the  table  beside  him.  Once  he 


THE  FROZEN  MAN  289 

thought  he  heard  footsteps  in  the  living-room,  won 
dered  if  it  were  Kerry  Mallabee  returning,  wondered 
what  she  would  do  were  she  suddenly  confronted  with 
the  striking  tableau  in  the  wireless  room. 

Finally,  after  what  seemed  an  age  of  waiting,  the 
sick  man  suddenly  raised  his  head  like  a  hunting 
dog  that  scents  the  game.  New  energy  seemed  to 
come  to  his  body  as  he  stood  up  and  again  placed  his 
bandaged  hand  on  Jensen's  shoulder. 

"I've  got  him!"  he  cried.  "Send  this."  He 
began  to  rapidly  push  down  and  release  the  pressure 
on  Jensen's  shoulder,  as  he  hoarsely  whispered  the 
message  he  desired  to  send. 


THE    MESSAGE 

THE  sick  man's  words  fairly  fell  over  one 
another  in  his  eagerness  to  say  what  he  wished 
to  "  Kin,"  whom  he  had  caught  at  last  on  the  wire 
less  receiver  clamped  to  his  ear. 

"  Don't  know  where  I  am,  except  that  it's  four 
days  north  of  Little  Babos  camp,"  he  said,  painfully 
spelling  out  the  words  with  jabs  on  Jensen's  shoulder, 
while  the  snapping  blue  sparks  repeated  the  mes 
sage.  "  Left  Little  Babos  with  good  outfit  and  In 
dian  guides.  Indians  became  frightened  at  some 
thing;  all  but  one  deserted  us  on  first  night  out, 
stole  everything,  didn't  leave  us  even  a  match  or  a 
biscuit.  We  kept  on  trail  and  struck  camp  with 
wireless  station.  Looks  as  if  it  might  be  what  we 
were  searching  for.  My  feet  frozen  bad.  I'm 
about  all  in.  Crewly  is  dead.  A  woman  here,  but 
haven't  found  Jensen." 

Jensen  suddenly  jerked  his  fingers  from  the  Morse 
key  and  stared  up  into  the  man's  face  as  he  cried : 

"  Great  Caesar !     I'm  Jensen !     Who  are  you  ?  " 


THE  MESSAGE  291 

"  What !  "  stammered  the  big  fellow  in  wide-eyed 
amazement,  as  he  fell  back  weakly  into  his  chair, 
yanking  the  wireless  helmet  from  his  head.  "  Why, 
I'm  Varick,  Secret  Service,"  he  continued,  forgetting 
entirely  the  business  of  sending  his  message.  "  The 
chief  sent  me  up  here  to  find  you.  What's  happened 
to  your  face  ?  "  he  pointed  to  the  dressings  Kerry 
Mallabee  had  adjusted  over  the  wound  made  on  Jen 
sen's  face  by  Blue  Mackinaw's  bullet.  "  It  was 
those  bandages  changed  you  so  I  didn't  know  you. 
Only  saw  your  photograph,  anyway.  Say,  where  is 
this  ?  Who  is  that  girl  ?  " 

Varick  was  so  wildly  excited  at  the  sudden  dis 
covery  that  it  was  Alan  Jensen  he  had  pressed  into 
service  as  a  wireless  operator  that  he  might  have 
continued  to  fire  his  questions  without  waiting  for 
answers  had  he  not  seen  an  odd  look  flow  across  Jen 
sen's  face  and  noted  that  the  man  was  strangely 
mute. 

It  had  come !  All  in  a  moment !  At  Varick's  in 
quiry  regarding  Kerry  Mallabee,  Jensen  knew  he 
must  decide  definitely  upon  the  instant  regarding 
his  future  conduct.  He  felt  like  a  hunted  animal 
driven  into  a  corner;  his  instincts  were  to  fight  for 
her,  to  fall  upon  this  man  who  had  come  to  Camp 
Argyle,  and  choke  him  beyond  the  power  of  sending 


292     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

another  word  of  information  to  Chief  Hilkie.  Then, 
blindingly,  there  flashed  before  his  eyes  a  picture  of 
two  men  without  food  or  adequate  clothing  hanging 
doggedly  to  a  faint  trail  in  the  snow  and  following  it 
persistently  for  days,  at  the  price  of  what  physical 
agony  God  only  knew,  because  duty  led  them  on. 
They  might  have  returned  to  safety ;  but  they  pressed 
on  into  the  unknown. 

Duty,  duty !  the  word  rang  through  his  brain  like 
a  clarion  call  to  arms,  and  Jensen  now  thought  he 
knew  where  alone  the  path  of  honor  lay.  Greater 
than  love,  greater  than  all  things  on  earth,  was  loy 
alty  to  the  land  of  his  nativity,  to  the  United  States 
Secret  Service.  Duty  must  be  fulfilled  at  any  cost 
and  then  —  beyond  that  he  could  not  see. 

In  a  moment  he  was  pouring  the  details  of  his  dis 
covery  at  Argyle  House  into  Varick's  eager  ear,  while 
Varick  punctuated  the  sentences  with  exclamations 
of  amazement. 

"  But  what  in  Sheol  is  he  making  it  for  ?  "  stam 
mered  Varick,  as  Jensen  finished.  "  I  know  all  about 
Lord  Cannonquest ;  he's  worth  millions.  Why,  great 
heavens,  man,  he's  the  biggest  chap  in  all  Canada; 
he's  the  real  cheese  there.  If  he  asked  the  whole 
Dominion  to  jump  through  a  hoop  to-morrow,  they'd 
do  it.  And  what  can  a  man  such  as  he  want  to 


THE  MESSAGE  293 

meddle  with  the  making  of  counterfeit  money  for? 
I'd  as  soon  suspect  our  own  Teddy  of  picking  pockets. 
I  don't  believe  this  chap  is  Lord  Cannonquest  at  all." 

"  It  can  be  no  more  of  a  puzzle  to  you  than  it  is 
to  me;  I  haven't  been  able  to  figure  it  out,"  an 
swered  Jensen.  "  I  have  sometimes  thought  he 
could  not  possibly  be  Lord  Cannonquest,  myself." 

Suddenly  Varick  stood  up  and  snapped  the  re 
ceiver  back  to  his  ear. 

"  Gee!  "  he  said.  "  I  forgot  the  chief.  I'll  bet 
he's  mad.  We  must  tell  him  about  this  and  get  his 
orders.  It's  up  to  him  now." 

He  placed  his  bandaged  hand  again  on  Jensen's 
shoulder  and  began  to  laboriously  repeat  the  call  for 
"  Kin."  The  news  of  Jensen's  discovery  seemed  to 
have  imparted  new  strength  to  Varick. 

"  They  don't  answer,"  he  muttered.  "  Must  have 
thought  I  was  unable  to  hold  out  and  left  the  instru 
ment.  Oh !  there  they  are !  " 

"  It's  Yarick,  Chief,"  he  repeated.  "  Jensen  is 
here.  Has  found  the  counterfeiting  plant  and  the 
ithite  mine.  Miners  mutinied  and  just  blew  up  the 
dam,  flooded  the  mine,  put  the  counterfeiting  plant 
under  fifty  feet  of  water.  Man  representing  him 
self  to  be  Lord  Cannonquest,  former  premier  of 
Canada,  was  at  the  head  of  everything." 


294     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

There  was  a  long  pause,  while  a  message  came  in 
from  Chief  Hilkie. 

"  Can't  help  it,"  Varick  finally  resumed.  "  Looks 
like  he  is  the  man;  no  one  else  here  equal  to  it. 
Plant  was  perfect,  cost  close  to  a  million.  Lord  Can- 
nonquest  isn't  aware  that  we  know  about  the  counter 
feiting  plant.  Has  offered  Jensen  an  outfit  to  re 
turn  to  Quebec.  Eepeat  the  details  carefully? 
O.  K" 

At  the  price  of  infinite  pain  in  his  frost-bitten 
hand,  Varick  sent  all  the  details  of  Jensen's  discov 
ery  and  finished  off  with  the  inquiry :  "  What's  the 
next  orders,  Chief  ?  " 

There  was  another  long  pause  while  Varick  list 
ened  to  his  chief's  message,  nodding  his  head  and 
whispering :  "  Yes,  yes,  I  get  you,"  at  frequent  in 
tervals. 

Finally  Jensen  saw  a  look  of  deep  disgust  on  Var- 
ick's  features,  as  he  yanked  the  receiving  helmet  off 
his  head,  slammed  it  down  upon  the  table,  and 
grunted  explosively: 

"  Hell !  wouldn't  that  hobble  your  broncho  ?  Here 
I  froze  my  feet  getting  here,  and  what  do  you  think 
the  chief  says  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  "  asked  Jensen  a  bit  wearily. 
His  mind  had  suddenly  reverted  to  Kerry  Malla- 


THE  MESSAGE  295 

bee ;  he  was  wondering  what  her  attitude  toward  him 
would  be  did  she  know  he  had  this  moment  denounced 
her  father  as  a  maker  of  counterfeit  coin. 

In  the  ardor  of  following  the  course  of  duty  to  the 
Service  as  he  saw  it,  Jensen's  love  for  Stephen  Malla- 
bee's  daughter  had  been  forced  to  take  a  second  place. 
Now,  with  the  reaction,  regard  for  her  was  asserting 
itself  most  persistently  in  his  mind. 

"  Chiefs  orders  are  to  take  the  outfit  and  return  to 
Quebec  as  soon  as  I  can  be  moved,"  answered  Varick. 
"  He  and  Secretary  of  State  Francis  will  meet  us 
there ;  they  are  at  a  place  called  Craggmorie  in  Ver 
mont,  near  the  Canadian  line,  now.  I  asked  the 
chief  if  we  should  bring  along  this  man  Mallabee,  and 
he  said  that  was  a  matter  for  the  State  Department 
to  handle  exclusively  after  we  get  to  Quebec.  That 
means  we  are  out  of  Case  BM432  from  now  on." 
Varick's  face  expressed  all  the  disgust  he  felt  at  thus 
being  defeated  in  his  desire  to  make  a  grandstand 
play  by  bringing  Stephen  Mallabee  into  the  States. 

Jensen  sat  silent,  brooding.  He  still  did  not  see 
how  he  could  accept  Stephen  Mallabee's  outfit  for  re 
turning  to  Quebec. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  something  ?  "  barked  Varick, 
looking  at  Jensen  with  puzzled  eyes.  "  You  act  as  if 
you  were  glad  to  be  out  of  it." 


296     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  I  am  not  exactly  sorry,"  answered  Jensen 
frankly.  "  ~Now  that  the  plant  is  totally  destroyed, 
I  can't  see  what  use  there  is  in  going  on,  we  have  no 
proof." 

"  You  are  the  proof,"  answered  Varick.  "  And 
you  are  going  back  with  me  to  swear  to  what  you  saw 
here.  That's  enough  to  put  it  all  over  the  old  man, 
even  if  he  does  turn  out  to  be  the  real  Lord  Cannon- 
quest." 

Jensen's  face  still  lacked  the  enthusiasm  Varick 
expected  to  find  there.  A  sudden  light  broke  upon 
his  mind.  He  grinned  slyly,  as  he  poked  a  bandaged 
fist  into  Jensen's  ribs. 

"  I  see,  the  girl,  eh  ?  Mallabee's  daughter. 
George!  Man,  I  can't  blame  you;  she  certainly  is 
one  thumping  beauty.  If  I  wasn't  an  old  married 
man,  I'd  be  smitten  myself;  the  tender  way  she  fed 
me  that  egg-nog  was  enough  to  soften  the  heart  of  a 
grizzly.  But,  all  levity  aside,  take  it  from  me,  a 
Secret  Service  man  has  no  business  falling  in  love, 
and  especially  not  with  a  counterfeiter's  daughter. 
Forget  it,  son ;  the  chances  are  she  is  playing  you  for 
a  sucker,  anyway;  knows  the  old  man  is  in  bad  and 
wants  to  steer  you  off.  As  for  the  proof,  it's  still 
there,  even  if  it  is  under  water.  By  the  way,  what 
has  become  of  those  people;  we  must  not  lose  sight 


THE  MESSAGE  297 

of  them.  I  heard  her  tell  you  she  was  going  to  break 
fast  when  you  returned,  and  when  I  woke  up,  I  found 
you  here.  She's  been  gone  a  long  time,  if  she  only 
left  to  eat." 

"  Her  father  went  up  above  the  falls  to  inspect  the 
destroyed  dam,"  said  Jensen,  "  and  she  followed  on 
after  him  when  I  returned  from  breakfast.  They 
should  be  back  here  soon." 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  we  have  got  to  do,"  said 
the  older  Secret  Service  man,  who  had  been  ponder 
ing  the  case  while  Jensen  spoke.  "  First  drag  that 
couch  over  close  to  the  door  to  this  wireless  room; 
then  help  me  back  to  it.  Nobody  gets  to  this  wireless 
except  over  my  dead  body.  I'll  make  sure  that  our 
connections  with  headquarters  are  not  cut  until  we 
leave  here.  I'd  smash  the  instrument,  but  we  may 
need  to  use  it  again  ourselves.  You  can  tell  these 
folks  that  you  moved  the  couch  so  that  I  might  have 
better  air. 

"  I'll  act  sick  a  while  longer,"  continued  Varick, 
as  Jensen  moved  the  couch,  "  and,  believe  me,  I'll 
not  need  to  act  much  either.  I  feel  as  if  a  decent 
punch  from  a  healthy  baby  would  put  me  entirely  out 
of  business.  Meanwhile,  you  manoeuvre  with  Malla- 
bee  to  get  that  outfit,  and  we'll  hurry  to  Quebec. 
Crewly  and  I  were  out  on  a  hunting  expedition,  and 


298     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

the  guides  deserted  us,  see  ?  That's  what  I  will  ex 
plain  to  Mallabee,  and  we  must  not  let  him  know  we 
understand  each  other." 

With  Jensen's  assistance,  Varick  managed  to  hobble 
back  to  the  couch. 

"  Gee,  but  it  feels  good  to  rest  these  feet  of  mine," 
he  said.  "  Now  you  look  up  the  Mallabees ;  they  are 
remaining  away  a  long  time.  Better  cut  out  the  flir 
tations,  too,  son.  A  Secret  Service  man  has  no  busi 
ness  to  mix  mush  with  business.  She's  not  in  our 
class,  son,  not  in  our  class  at  all.  We're  the  hounds, 
and  she's  the  dainty  little  lady  fox  it's  our  business  to 
run  down,  and,  believe  me,  she's  as  guilty  as  the  old 
man ;  they  always  are,  for  all  their  pretty  faces.  Get 
me,  son  ?  "  Bluff-spoken  Jim  Varick,  veteran  of  the 
Secret  Service,  lay  back  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"  She  may  have  been  making  a  fool  of  me  as  Varick 
intimates,"  thought  Jensen,  as  he  left  the  under 
ground  home  and  walked  moodily  toward  the  falls. 
"  But  for  all  that,  I'll  have  no  more  to  do  with  hand 
ing  them  over ;  I've  done  my  duty,  and  it  ends  here ; 
that's  settled." 

Jensen  walked  as  far  as  the  falls  without  seeing 
anything  of  Kerry  Mallabee  or  her  father.  Travel 
ing  along  the  bank  of  Black  Devil  Eiver,  he  kept  on 
up  to  where  Stephen  Mallabee  had  built  his  dam. 


THE  MESSAGE  299 

Aside  from  a  few  jagged  blocks  of  cement  that  jutted 
up  above  the  water,  there  was  left  no  sign  of  the 
splendid  structure,  a  triumph  of  engineering  skill  and 
daring,  that  had  been  there  but  a  few  hours  before. 
The  river,  filled  with  mush  ice,  had  lowered,  as  the 
lake  above  the  dam  emptied  itself,  and  now  it  was 
not  more  than  a  hundred  feet  wide. 

The  Mallabees  were  nowhere  in  sight,  and  Jensen 
decided  they  must  have  returned  to  the  wireless  house 
while  he  and  Varick  were  sending  the  message  to 
Chief  Hilkie.  Kerry  Mallabee  was  probably  at 
breakfast.  She  would  think  it  strange  that  he  had 
deserted  the  sick  man,  yet  he  felt  no  desire  to  return 
there.  He  did  not  mean  to  return. 

As  Jensen  looked  upon  the  wreck  of  Stephen  Malla- 
bee's  great  undertaking,  it  seemed  to  typify  his  own 
life.  Upon  entering  the  Secret  Service  profession, 
he  had  never  counted  on  being  obliged  to  run  down 
beautiful  young  women ;  least  of  all  did  he  expect  to 
be  confronted  with  the  necessity  of  denouncing  a  man 
like  Stephen  Mallabee. 

Varick  could  return,  he  thought;  the  Mallabees 
would  look  out  for  that;  but  he  was  not  going. 
Varick  might  have  all  the  glory  of  Case  BM432  — 
if  there  were  any  glory  in  it. 

In  his  moody  abstraction,  Jensen  did  not  hear  a 


300     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

step  approaching  until  the  person  coming  was  almost 
at  his  side.  Then  he  turned.  It  was  Kerry  Malla- 
bee. 

One  glance  into  Jensen's  face,  and  she  seemed  to 
understand  the  wild  whirl  of  feeling  that  was  tear 
ing  at  his  heart. 

She  held  out  her  hands,  palms  down,  but  he  did  not 
take  them.  His  eyes  fell  before  hers. 

"  You  bad,  delinquent  nurse,"  she  said  playfully. 
"  You  deserted  your  patient." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jensen  dully.  "  He  awoke  and 
appeared  so  far  recovered  that  I  came  up  here  to  ascer 
tain  what  detained  you  and  your  father.  I  was  not 
sure  but  that  you  might  have  run  into  some  of  the 
Swedish  miners." 

"  You  aot  oddly,  Boy,"  said  Kerry  Mallabee,  as  she 
noted  Jensen's  air  of  indifference.  "  Tell  me  what  is 
the  trouble.  Did  father  talk  of  his  great  plans  while 
you  were  breakfasting  together  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Jensen.  "  But  he  did  tell  me, 
before  breakfast,  that  he  intended  to  leave  Camp 
Argyle  and  go  on  board  his  yacht,  and  he  offered 
to  furnish  an  outfit  of  dogs  and  komatics,  with  Peter 
Saint  as  a  guide,  for  me  to  return  to  Quebec.  This 
sick  man  must  be  sent  back  with  Peter  Saint." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  an  odd  look  filling  her  eyes,  as 


THE  MESSAGE  301 

she  searched  his  face.  "  And  you,  Boy,  you  are  go 
ing  too  ? " 

He  looked  toward  her.  His  glance  fell  before 
hers,  he  was  about  to  stammer  some  hastily  concocted 
evasion  of  her  question.  Then,  suddenly,  he  knew 
he  could  not  lie  to  her.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  fairly 
drag  the  bitter  truth  from  his  unwilling  lips. 

"  I  can't !  "  he  cried  helplessly. 

"  Why  not,  Boy  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  Because  it  would  be  acting  the  part  of  a  cad," 
he  answered,  with  hanging  head. 

"  But  why,  Boy  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  I  am  a  Secret  Service  employee,"  he  blurted  out 
desperately,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  expecting  to 
see  them  fill  with  horror  and  hate. 

"  Well,"  she  answered  slowly,  without  the  slightest 
tonal  change  in  her  voice.  "  And  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  Could  it  be  possible,  after  all,  that  she  did  not 
fully  know  of  her  father's  schemes  ?  "  he  thought.  It 
seemed  so,  and  he  must  tell  her;  there  was  no  other 
thing  to  do.  Again  his  glance  fell  before  hers,  as  he 
spoke  in  halting  sentences,  the  uttering  of  which  was 
the  keenest  hurt  of  all  his  life. 

"  I  was  sent  up  here  to  run  down  a  huge  counter 
feiting  scheme,"  he  said.  "  I  know  now  that  it  was 
at  Camp  Argyle  the  money  was  made." 


302     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

In  hurried,  stumbling  sentences  he  told  her  of  all 
he  had  seen  in  the  basement  coining-room  at  Argyle 
House  and  of  the  message  he  had  already  dispatched 
to  Chief  Hilkie.  Her  eyes  never  once  left  his  face ; 
to  save  his  soul,  he  could  not  have  held  any  part  of 
the  story  from  her,  once  he  had  begun. 

"  The  plant  has  been  wrecked,"  he  finished,  "  but  I 
can  swear  to  its  existence,  and  for  me  to  return  means 
black  disgrace  for  you,  for  your  father.  I  simply 
cannot  do  it.  Any  other  course  is  equally  impossible. 
I  may  be  a  coward,  but  I  can't  do  it." 

Kerry  Mallabee  came  closer  and  rested  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  Her  sad  eyes  held  his  as  she  said : 

"  Boy,  Boy,  I  know  all  about  it.  I  knew  from  the 
first,  almost."  She  smiled  a  little  as  she  added: 
"  You  haven't  a  good  face  for  keeping  secrets.  When 
I  told  you  in  the  Little  Babos  camp  that  I  had  sus 
pected  you  of  being  a  Secret  Service  man,  your  ex 
pressive  look  assured  me  that  my  suspicion  was  cor 
rect.  Your  face,  Boy,  has  always  told  me  the  truth, 
no  matter  what  your  lips  said,  always." 

"  You  knew !  you  knew !  "  he  stammered,  with 
hanging  jaw,  almost  paralyzed  with  amazement. 
"  And  you  deliberately  brought  me  here  to  Camp 
Argyle  after  you  knew  ?  "  There  was  blind,  unrea 
soning  anger  in  his  question. 


THE  MESSAGE  303 

"  It  was  because  I  did  know  that  I  brought  you 
here,"  she  answered  patiently. 

"  Now  don't  be  angry,  Boy,"  she  continued,  touch 
ing  his  cheek  softly  with  her  warm  pink  fingers. 

The  gesture  brought  a  hurrying  memory  that  hurt 
more  than  if  she  had  stabbed  him  with  a  knife.  For 
a  fleeting  instant  there  was  only  hate  and  rage  in  Jen 
sen's  heart,  as  he  felt  the  caress  with  which  she  had 
beguiled  the  giant  Swede  at  the  Little  Babos  camp. 

"  You  deliberately  made  a  fool  of  me !  "  he  blurted 
out,  trying  to  remove  her  hand  from  his  shoulder. 
"  Just  as  you  did  of  Big  Dan  and  Tom  Springvale." 

The  wind  blew  wandering  strands  of  her  hair  into 
his  face  and  eyes.  He  felt  the  contact  and  caught 
the  subtle  perfume  of  her  presence.  It  was  as  if  he 
were  being  suffocated. 

"  At  this  moment  you  are  being  a  fool,  Boy,"  she 
said.  "  No,"  she  denied,  contritely,  "  you  are  just 
being  a  boy ;  a  man  would  wait  and  listen  before  he 
would  dare  accuse." 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  begged,  brushing  a  hand  across 
his  forehead.  "  It  is  because  I  can't  understand." 

"  Listen  then,"  she  said.  "  It  was  my  father  who 
made  the  counterfeit  money  —  or  rather,  helped  to 
make  it,  for  only  the  base  metal  centers  were  made 
here.  Had  not  Black  Devil's  Bed  and  his  ithite 


304     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

mine  been  flooded  to-day,  or  the  United  States  gov 
ernment  prevented  him,  he  might  have  continued  to 
manufacture  the  spurious  money  until  there  was  not 
a  single  good  gold  coin  in  your  country." 

The  enormity  of  this  statement  fairly  staggered 
Jensen,  spoken,  as  it  was,  in  her  calm,  even  tones. 

"  But  your  father  a  criminal !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  It  is  unbelievable." 

"  My  father  is  not  a  criminal,"  she  answered 
proudly.  "  His  later  life  has  been  dominated  by  an 
idea ;  it  was  that  the  United  States  and  the  Dominion 
should  become  one  undivided  nation,  and  that  all 
America  should  be  one  united  colony  of  England. 
Yet  father  is  as  bitterly  opposed  to  war  as  he  is  pos 
sessed,  call  it  obsessed,  if  you  prefer,  with  this  idea  of 
an  undivided  America, 

"  Ten  years  ago  father  discovered  this  mine  here 
and  began  experimenting,  secretly,  with  radium. 
During  these  experiments  he  isolated  vast  quanti 
ties  of  ithite,  found  that  it  had  the  same  specific  grav 
ity  as  gold  and  could  be  made  to  give  the  true  ring 
of  gold,  even  when  combined  with  that  metal. 

"  About  this  time  your  famous  American  gold  king, 
J.  J.  Kerrison,  whom  father  has  known  since  his  boy 
hood  days,  came  to  visit  us  while  we  were  at  Quebec. 
He  was  a  morose  old  man,  very  bitter  against  his  own 


THE  MESSAGE  305 

country.  Father  told  Kerrison  of  his  dream  of  a 
united  America.  Mr.  Kerrison  offered  to  donate  his 
entire  fortune  to  that  end,  and  I  believe  he  is  almost 
a  billionaire.  He  even  proposed  that  Canada  make 
war  upon  your  country  and  invade  it. 

"  Father  would  not  even  consider  war ;  but  he  con 
tinued  to  study  the  matter  during  the  time  Mr.  Kerri 
son  was  visiting  us.  Finally,  together,  they  evolved  a 
plan  which  father  called  '  The  Bloodless  War.'  It 
was  very  simple. 

"  Mr.  Kerrison,  with  his  brother,  controlled  a  large 
share  of  the  gold  mines  in  the  United  States.  His 
product  was  delivered  at  the  United  States  mints  in 
the  shape  of  bullion;  for  this  bullion  he  might  re 
ceive  either  coin,  paper  money,  or  bank  drafts.  He 
usually  elected  to  receive  coin. 

"  Their  plan  was  to  manufacture  counterfeit  from 
the  comparatively  cheap  ithite  and  gradually  substi 
tute  it  for  the  perfect  money,  until  practically  all  the 
gold  coin  in  the  United  States  should  be  spurious." 

"  But  how  was  it  possible  to  thus  substitute  bad 
money  for  good  ?  "  asked  Jensen  in  wonderment. 

"  It  was  easy  enough  to  do  this  during  the  trans 
fer  of  Kerrison's  good  gold  from  the  mints  to  the 
various  banks  where  he  deposited,"  answered  Kerry 
Mallabee.  "  Somewhere,  while  the  money  Kerrison 


306     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

received  from  the  mint  was  in  transit,  spurious  coin 
with  ithite  centers  was  cleverly  substituted  for  the 
minted  money,  and  this  they  delivered  to  the  banks. 
The  banks  they  selected  were  always  large  deposi 
tories  of  government  funds,  as  well  as  institutions  over 
which  Kerrison  wielded  control.  He  was  thus  able 
to  influence  the  officials  without  their  being  aware  of 
what  he  was  actually  accomplishing,  so  that  the  ithite 
money  eventually  became  a  part  of  the  United  States 
gold  reserve.  This  has  been  going  on  for  years." 

"  Then  this  false  coin  is  merely  a  substitute  for  the 
real  money,"  put  in  Jensen,  "  not  counterfeit  manu 
factured  for  the  purpose  of  gain  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  she  answered.  "  So  far,  Mr.  Kerri 
son  has  kept  every  dollar  of  the  good  gold  money 
stored  in  an  old  abandoned  prospect  on  his  Cragg- 
morie  estate." 

"  But  what  possible  end  could  such  a  substitution 
of  spurious  coin  attain  ?  "  asked  Jensen. 

"  To  the  end  that,  eventually,  almost  the  entire 
store  of  gold  possessed  by  the  United  States  should 
consist  of  counterfeit  coin.  Then,  through  some  pre 
text,  father,  with  his  Canadian  influence,  and  Kerri 
son,  with  his  newspapers,  would  foment  a  quarrel  be 
tween  the  Dominion  and  the  United  States  that  should 
finally  result  in  strong  prospect  of  war. 


THE  MESSAGE  307 

"  Upon  this,  Mr.  Kerrison,  through  his  newspapers, 
would  disclose  the  fact  that  a  large  part  of  the  United 
States  gold  coin  was  nothing  but  worthless  counter 
feit.  This  statement,  they  expected,  would  totally 
ruin  the  credit  of  the  United  States  and  make  it  im 
possible  for  her  to  finance  a  war.  Upon  this  Canada 
would  magnanimously  forget  her  quarrel  and  offer  to 
stand  back  of  the  United  States'  credit  to  any  amount, 
if  your  country  would  consent  to  a  United  America 
with  home  rule,  such  as  the  Dominion  now  has. 

"  This  was  father's  idea  of  a  Bloodless  War  that  he 
felt  certain  would  result  in  complete  victory  for 
Canada,  without  the  necessity  of  firing  a  single  gun. 
He  believes  that  all  English-speaking  peoples  should 
be  under  a  single  government,  and  that  the  present 
English  crown  government  is  the  ideal  form.  The 
basic  idea  is  not  bad, —  you  would  see  that  if  it  were 
your  own  country  that  proposed  it ;  but  father  failed 
to  take  the  Yankee  temperament  into  consideration. 
He  could  not  realize  their  passion  for  absolute  leader 
ship,  he  could  not  see  that  they  would  be  satisfied 
with  nothing  short  of  first  place." 


XXIII 

VANISHING    HOPES 

AS  he  listened  to  Kerry  Mallabee's  story  of  her 
father's  colossal  schemes,  it  fairly  took  Jen 
sen's  breath  away.  For  a  moment  he  could  not 
speak.  Then  he  blurted  out  patriotically: 

"  Even  with  our  credit  but  a  thing  of  shreds  and 
patches,  the  people  of  the  United  States  would  never 
consent  to  annexation  to  England.  They  would  fight 
against  it  with  their  last  ounce  of  strength." 

"  So  I  have  always  assured  father,"  answered 
Kerry  Mallabee.  "  But  he  would  not  believe  it.  Mr. 
Kerrison  has  persistently  told  him  that  your  moneyed 
class  who  exert  the  greater  political  influence  would 
welcome  the  idea  of  becoming  a  colony  of  England. 

"  I  have  tried  repeatedly  to  discourage  father  in 
this  plan  of  his,  but  it  was  useless.  He  and  J.  J. 
Kerrison  started  life  together  as  poor  men ;  they  have 
risen  high,  and  father's  confidence  in  Kerrison  is 
great. 

"  Both  Kerrison  and  father  are  incapable  of  seeing 
the  thing  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  real  people  of 


VANISHING  HOPES  309 

the  States ;  father,  because  he  is  so  intensely  British, 
and  Kerrison,  because  his  disposition  is  so  thoroughly 
soured.  Father,  although  he  loves  me  dearly,  has  not 
a  high  regard  for  feminine  opinions,  as  you  may  have 
gathered  from  our  talk  together.  Of  late  I  have  had 
to  play  the  spy  in  order  to  know  how  matters  were 
going.  Springvale  would  tell  me  little;  he  knew  I 
was  not  in  sympathy  with  the  plan,  and  he  was  ex 
tremely  loyal  to  father." 

"  And  you  considered  me  a  more  pliable  person  ?  " 
Jensen  interrupted  sarcastically. 

"  Now,  Boy,"  she  answered  patiently,  "  do  be  sen 
sible.  From  what  I  saw  of  you  at  the  Little  Babos 
camp,  I  knew  you  were  a  man  to  whom  deceit  was  dis 
tasteful.  Although  a  Secret  Service  operative,  you 
have  sometimes  played  the  part  with  poor  grace." 

"  You  are  far  from  complimentary,"  he  declared  a 
little  sulkily. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  returned.  "  Yet  I  think  your  con 
duct  stands  to  your  credit.  Such  work  must  be  done, 
but  it  is  not  always  the  most  manly  thing  to  do." 
Jensen  found  himself  wondering  if  she  were  about  to 
counsel  treason  to  the  Service. 

"  One  reason  why  I  brought  you  here,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  was  because  I  knew  father  would  perceive 
your  rugged  honesty  as  certainly  as  I  did.  I  knew 


310     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

he  would  sound  you  on  conditions  in  the  States,  and 
that,  if  he  liked  you,  your  opinions  would  carry 
weight  with  him,  enough,  I  hoped,  so  that  he  would 
look  more  deeply  into  exact  conditions  in  your  coun 
try  and  be  less  guided  by  the  biased  and  revengeful 
views  of  old  J.  J.  Kerrison." 

"  But  you  must  have  known  I  would  be  likely  to 
discover  what  was  going  on  here,"  said  Jensen,  "  and 
that  it  would  be  my  duty  to  inform  the  United  States 
government." 

"  I  realized  all  that,  too,  and  it  was  what  I  ex 
pected  you  to  do  if  father  did  not  give  up  his  plan." 
She  gripped  his  shoulder  and  spoke  very  earnestly. 
"  And  now  you  must  take  father's  proffered  outfit,  re 
turn  to  Washington,  and  put  them  in  possession  of 
the  facts  I  have  given  you. 

"  Remember,  my  knight  errant,"  she  said,  "  your 
promise  to  fulfil  my  most  high  commission  without 
questions.  The  code  letter  I  found  in  Big  Dan's  tote 
bag  told  me  that  their  plans  were  approaching  a  crisis. 
This  that  has  happened  here  will  precipitate  it.  The 
destruction  of  Camp  Argyle  and  the  death  of  those 
miners  has  done  much  to  bring  father  to  his  senses; 
his  spirit  is  almost  broken,  and  I  think  I  can  convince 
him  now ;  but  there  is  still  J.  J.  Kerrison  to  be  taken 
into  account.  He  is  a  bitter,  revengeful  old  man, 


VANISHING  HOPES  311 

and  he  will  stop  at  nothing  to  humiliate  the  United 
States.  Your  duty  lies  in  Washington;  you  owe  us 
nothing  in  loyalty  here. 

"  You  can  return,"  she  argued  patiently,  "  and  tell 
them  enough  so  that  they  will  make  Kerrison  disgorge 
the  millions  of  good  money  he  has  stored  away  in  his 
abandoned  prospect  at  Craggmorie.  Kerrison's  mo 
tive  was  base  revenge  for  what  he  considered  lack  of 
appreciation.  Father's  motive  in  the  affair  came 
solely  from  a  perfectly  laudable  ambition  to  bind  the 
English-speaking  countries  into  a  single  nation.  Al 
though  his  method  of  going  about  this  may  not  have 
been  the  most  praiseworthy,  he  believed  it  would 
eventually  be  of  enormous  benefit  to  your  country.  I 
know  that  your  government  will  consider  his  motives 
and  look  upon  the  conduct  of  Canada's  former 
Premier  with  lenient  eyes.  They  may  urge  that  he 
receive  a  reprimand  through  his  own  government,  but 
that  is  all. 

"  It  will  be  entirely  a  matter  for  most  careful  diplo 
matic  adjustment,"  she  continued,  "  and  also  ex 
tremely  careful  suppression  from  publicity.  What 
they  will  do  to  old  J.  J.  Kerrison  I  do  not  know,  nor 
do  I  care  —  that  eighty-year-old  man  once  had  the 
audacity  to  propose  marriage  to  me  —  but  you  may 
be  certain  that  the  connection  of  Lord  Cannonquest 


312     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

with  the  plan  will  be  buried  forever  in  the  most  se 
cret  archives  of  government." 

"  Then  your  father  is  actually  Lord  Cannon- 
quest  ? "  asked  Jensen. 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered.  "  Whom  did  you 
suppose  him  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  who  he  was,  but  I  have  sometimes 
doubted  if  he  could  be  a  man  so  high  in  the  world  as 
the  '  Ironman  of  Canada.'  His  hands  — "  he  con 
tinued,  when  she  interrupted  him: 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you  taking  note  of  them  at  dinner 
last  night.  Father  was  so  zealous  regarding  this 
plan  of  his  for  a  united  English-speaking  race  that 
he  made  the  greater  part  of  those  ithite  centers  with 
his  own  hands.  Mr.  Kerrison  owns  a  vast  game  pre 
serve  called  Craggmorie,  situated  partly  in  northern 
Vermont,  partly  in  Canada,  and  the  coins  were  fin 
ished  there.  When  you  told  me  at  the  Little  Babos 
camp  that  you  were  instructed  by  Tom  Springvale  to 
return  with  the  package  to  '  the  bank/  I  thought 
you  were  playing  a  part.  All  the  ithite  centers  went 
to  Craggmorie,  crossed  the  frontier  there,  and,  after 
being  finished,  were  carried  thence  to  New  York, 
Chicago,  or  some  one  of  the  other  big  centers  where 
the  Kerrisons  banked.  Had  you  been  speaking 
truthfully,  according  to  what  Tom  Springvale  would 


VANISHING  HOPES  313 

have  instructed,  you  would  have  answered  '  Cragg- 
morie '  instead  of  *  the  bank '  when  I  questioned 
you." 

Jensen  was  overcome  with  humiliation.  Was  she 
to  leave  him  no  single  detail  of  Case  BM432  on  which 
he  might  believe  he  had  outgeneraled  her  ? 

"  I  seem  to  have  been  unable  to  conceal  anything 
from  you,"  he  said.  "  If  Springvale  was  adamant 
in  your  hands,  I  have  been  putty." 

"  I  like  that !  "  she  returned.  "  Who  was  it  dis 
covered  the  trail  up  here,  managed  to  unearth  father's 
secret  coining  plant,  and  has  led  me  to  tell  him  all  I 
know  of  father's  plans?  You  are  too  modest,  Boy. 
Instead  of  a  failure,  you  seem  to  have  made  a  smash 
ing  success.  Certainly  you  are  returning  with  your 
case  complete." 

Was  he?  He  did  not  know.  If  he  were  to  be 
lieve  all  Kerry  Mallabee  had  told  him,  he  was,  yet 
the  irritating  idea  of  what  Tom  Springvale  had  called 
her  in  his  delirium,  "  a  false-hearted  siren,"  was  yet 
as  difficult  as  ever  to  efface  from  his  mind.  The 
doubt  would  persist ;  still  he  knew  he  loved  her.  He 
thought,  for  a  moment,  to  put  his  doubt  into  words. 

"  Tom  Springvale  said  — "  he  had  begun,  when 
he  caught  himself  at  the  look  of  sorrow  that  suddenly 
overspread  her  features. 


314     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

"  Tell  me,  Boy,"  she  interrupted  earnestly,  "  did 
Tom  Springvale  really  die  ?  " 

He  gazed  intently  at  her.  Something  in  the  ex 
pression  of  her  face  made  him  think  she  had  cared 
for  the  man. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "that  was  all  true.  I  was 
with  him  when  he  died ;  but  he  did  not  confide  in  me. 
I  knew  him  merely  as  a  casual  acquaintance  at  col 
lege.  It  was  pure  accident,  my  finding  Springvale 
and  that  note  at  the  charcoal  burners'  camp  in  Ver 
mont."  Then,  as  he  saw  her  eyes  fill  with  sudden 
tears,  he  added,  before  he  had  a  chance  to  really 
consider  what  he  was  saying :  "  You  cared  for 
him?" 

"  I  thought  I  did  at  one  time,"  she  answered 
slowly.  "  And  father  was  anxious  that  we  marry ; 
but  it  had  never  progressed  quite  as  far  as  an  actual 
engagement.  We  were  seldom  able  to  agree,  Tom 
and  I." 

There  was  that  in  her  words  which  stirred  a  faint 
hope  in  Jensen's  heart.  He  knew  Springvale  had 
been  a  commoner,  yet  Stephen  Mallabee  had  ap 
proved  of  his  suit.  Still  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  tell  her  of  his  lova  What  had  he  to  offer  her,  the 
daughter  of  a  lord  ?  It  was  this  and  the  thought  that 
he  was  only  an  unimportant  unit  in  a  profession  for 


VANISHING  HOPES  315 

which  she  had  recently  confessed  she  had  no  high  re 
gard  that  held  him  silent. 

"  Well,  Boy,  what  is  it  to  be  ? "  she  asked.  "  Are 
you  still  my  knight  errant  ?  " 

He  devoured  her  face  with  longing  eyes.  She 
must  have  known  something  of  what  was  in  his  heart ; 
yet  she  continued  to  remain  a  straight,  unyielding 
figure,  silhouetted  against  the  cold,  gray,  northern 
sky,  silently  awaiting  his  answer. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said  slowly,  his  heart  turning  cold 
as  the  sentence  left  his  lips.  He  felt  as  if  his  words 
had  destroyed  every  bridge  to  hope  and  happiness. 

Kerry  Mallabee's  idea  of  the  leniency  with  which 
his  government  would  look  upon  her  father's  conduct 
might  be  true,  yet  going  back  would  still  mean  be 
traying  her  father,  a  man  whom  Jensen  had  learned 
to  greatly  admire.  And  it  meant  losing  her,  the 
woman  he  loved,  living  on  without  her;  he  felt  cer 
tain  of  that,  too,  yet  he  could  not  deny  her,  he  would 

go- 

"  But  returning  over  the  trail  will  mean  a  long 
delay,"  he  continued.  "  Why  not  attempt  to  get 
Chief  Hilkie  on  the  wireless  again,  tell  him  all  this, 
and  enable  him  to  proceed  against  J.  J.  Kerrison  at 
once  ?  Otherwise  it  may  be  too  late  when  I  arrive  in 
the  States." 


316     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

The  idea  that  Kerry  Mallabee  might  object  to  this 
plan  was  in  Jensen's  mind.  If  she  had  been  deceiv 
ing  him,  she  would.  This  was  a  test. 

Instead  of  objecting,  she  became  instantly  en 
thusiastic.  "  An  excellent  idea,"  she  cried,  "  why 
didn't  we  think  of  it  before?  Where  did  you  get 
your  chief  on  the  wireless  ?  " 

Jensen  considered  a  moment,  then  he  remembered. 
"  Why,  it  was  at  a  place  called  '  Craggmorie,'  "  he 
answered. 

"  Craggmorie ! "  exclaimed  Kerry  Mallabee. 
"  They  are  in  tune  with  us,  and  we  should  have  little 
difficulty  in  catching  him  again.  Either  father  or  I 
have  been  in  connection  with  Craggmorie  on  the  wire 
less  frequently.  Father  sent  a  message  to  '  Gold, 
Vermont,'  there  last  night,  immediately  after  your 
arrival.  We  will  try  to  call  them." 

Arriving  at  the  Camp  Argyle  underground  home, 
Kerry  Mallabee  sent  Jensen  in  to  explain  matters 
to  Varick,  while  she  went  to  her  father. 

"  I  left  father  lying  down  in  his  chamber,"  said 
Kerry  Mallabee.  "  He  was  very  despondent.  I 
think  I  had  better  tell  him  something  of  conditions 
at  once.  It  seems  like  rubbing  a  raw  sore ;  yet  he  is 
in  a  better  frame  of  mind  to  be  reconciled  now  to 
what  must  come  than  he  will  be  later." 


VANISHING  HOPES  317 

It  was  a  far  from  enthusiastic  Varick  who  heard 
what  Jensen  had  to  tell  him  of  Case  BM432. 

"  Sounds  kinder  punky  to  me,"  he  declared,  as 
Jensen  finished.  "  You  been  gettin'  an  ear  full  from 
that  girl.  I  see  that,  all  right.  But,  as  for  me,  I'm 
naturally  suspicious  of  all  young  women,  and  espe 
cially  of  young  women  so  all-fired  seductive  as  she  is. 
She's  got  you  hypnotized;  but  I  tell  you,  son,  she 
hasn't  hypnotized  me  yet.  Conquer  the  United 
States  by  ruining  our  currency  and  credit !  Sounds 
very  fishy,  son.  I  think  this  is  merely  a  foxy  move 
of  hers  to  hurry  us  back  to  Quebec  and  get  her  old 
man  out  of  the  way  before  the  chief  has  a  chance  to 
move  against  him." 

Varick's  further  impressions  were  cut  short  by 
the  entrance  of  Kerry  Mallabee  and  her  father. 
Mallabee  was  leaning  heavily  on  his  daughter's  arm. 
His  great  frame  was  bowed ;  the  lambent  glow  in  his 
fine  gray  eyes  had  been  replaced  with  a  look  of  in 
effable  sorrow. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  as  he  sank  wearily  into  a 
chair,  "  my  daughter  has  just  told  me  who  you  are 
and  what  you  know  of  my  plan  for  welding  the  Eng 
lish-speaking  peoples  into  one  homogeneous  nation. 
I  fear  it  was  but  the  dream  of  an  old  man  and  that  a 
bloodless  war  is  an  impossibility.  More  than  fifty 


318     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

human  lives  have  already  been  sacrificed.  Four  of 
those  men  were  as  brave  fellows  as  ever  lived.  I 
would  not  have  given  Dick  Evans  alone  for  the  com 
plete  realization  of  my  dream.  I  thought  it  could  all 
be  brought  about  peacefully;  I  deceived  myself.  I 
am  sorry.  I  shall  do  what  I  can  to  right  the  wrong." 

Jensen's  heart  went  out  in  sympathy  to  this  won 
derful  man;  he  knew  what  a  confession  of  failure 
must  have  cost  him.  Still  more  did  he  admire  him 
for  not  shouldering  the  blame  upon  Kerrison. 

"  My  daughter  tells  me  you  propose  to  call  Chief 
Hilkie,  head  of  your  Secret  Police,  on  the  wireless 
and  put  him  in  possession  of  such  information  as  will 
enable  him  to  cause  John  J.  Kerrison  to  surrender  the 
gold  coin  we  have  obtained  through — "  Mallabee 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  his  voice  shook  as  he  con 
tinued  —  "  have  obtained  through  fraud,  for  I  sup 
pose  we  may  as  well  be  blunt  about  this  thing.  That 
course  has  my  approval.  My  daughter  is  a  skilled 
wireless  operator.  If  you  will  tell  her  the  message 
you  wish  to  give  your  chief,  she  will  be  glad  to  send 
it  for  you.  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  now.  I  find 
the  events  of  the  morning  have  tired  me  greatly.  I 
will  see  that  you  are  provided  with  an  outfit  to  return 
to  Quebec  whenever  you  wish  to  go." 

It  required  less  than  fifteen  minutes  for  Kerry 


VANISHING  HOPES  319 

Mallabee  to  get  Chief  Hilkie  on  the  Craggmorie  wire 
less  instrument.  This  slight  delay  was  caused  by  the 
chief  himself,  who,  with  Secretary  of  State  Francis, 
had  been  at  Craggmorie  engaged  in  wireless  consulta 
tion  with  Washington  before  they  left  for  Quebec. 

The  chief,  being  in  doubt  whether  to  permit  J.  J. 
Kerrison  to  pull  out  from  the  Carldale  station  in  his 
special  car,  had  been  attempting  for  some  time  to 
cook  up  an  excuse  with  Washington  for  holding  him 
there.  Chief  Hilkie's  previous  information  about 
Case  BM432,  received  from  Varick,  had  contained 
no  reference  to  Kerrison's  being  involved;  still  the 
chief  could  not  rid  his  mind  of  the  hunch  that  the 
old  gold  king  was  mixed  up  in  it  somewhere.  Cer 
tainly,  he  thought,  those  wireless  messages  to  "  Gold, 
.Vermont,"  pointed  in  that  direction. 

It  took  Alan  Jensen  scarce  another  fifteen  minutes 
to  put  his  chief  in  possession  of  the  essential  facts 
regarding  J.  J.  Kerrison,  with  which  Stephen  Malla- 
bee's  daughter  had  recently  furnished  him.  Before 
another  hour  had  elapsed,  those  facts  were  confirmed, 
and  Chief  Hilkie  wirelessed  back  to  Camp  Argyle 
that  not  only  had  the  old  fox  been  cornered,  but  that 
the  vast  store  of  good  gold  coin  Kerrison  had  con 
cealed  in  an  abandoned  prospect  on  his  Craggmorie 
estate  had  been  unearthed  and  was  being  guarded  by 


320     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Beck  and  Widden  until  the  arrival  of  the  treasury 
officials,  who  would  supervise  its  transportation  to 
the  nearest  sub-treasury. 

Chief  Hilkie  was  not  ordinarily  a  demonstrative 
man;  a  single  word  of  commendation  from  him 
meant  more  than  a  dozen  words  from  many  others, 
yet,  having  got  his  details  out  of  the  way,  the  chief 
took  the  time  to  send  a  purely  personal  message  to 
Alan  Jensen. 

"  Good  work,  Jensen,"  was  the  cheering  sentence 
that  came  crashing  down  from  the  Camp  Argyle 
aerials.  "  You  beat  us  all  to  it,  the  greatest  case  we 
ever  handled." 

Varick,  too,  now  that  he  was  convinced  Jensen  had 
not  been  led  astray  by  Kerry  Mallabee,  was  quick  to 
tender  his  congratulations. 

"  Son,"  he  said,  as  he  held  forward  one  of  his 
bandaged  hands,  "  if  you  are  willing  to  shake  the  paw 
of  one  of  the  biggest  chuckleheads  in  the  Secret  Serv 
ice,  put  it  there.  I  certainly  thought  your  story  was 
a  pipe  dream ;  but  it  was  the  real  goods." 

Jensen  stood  cold  before  this  shower  of  praise 
from  his  associate  and  his  chief.  In  his  own  mind 
he  could  not  believe  he  deserved  it,  and  the  fact  that 
Kerry  Mallabee  had  failed  to  second  their  good 
opinions  of  his  conduct  added  to  his  despondency. 


VANISHING  HOPES  321 

True,  she  had  been  summoned  to  her  father's  side  by 
one  of  the  Chinese  house  boys  immediately  after 
having  received  the  last  word  from  Chief  Hilkie ;  yet, 
thought  Jensen,  she  might,  at  least,  have  expressed 
her  approval  before  leaving,  since  he  had  fulfilled  her 
own  wishes  in  the  matter. 


XXIV 


THE  days  that  followed  while  he  awaited  Var- 
ick's  recovery  to  a  point  where  the  return  jour 
ney  to  Quebec  might  be  attempted  were  alike  the  most 
lonely  and  the  most  depressing  Alan  Jensen  had 
passed  through. 

Stephen  Mallabee  was  ill  in  his  chamber  and  re 
quired  the  constant  attention  of  his  daughter.  Jen 
sen  saw  her  only  as  she  occasionally  passed  through 
the  rooms,  and  their  conversation  was  limited  to  in 
quiries  and  replies  regarding  her  father's  condition 
of  health. 

Mallabee's  yacht,  cruising  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Ungava  Bay,  had  been  communicated  with  by  wire 
less,  and  a  party  from  there  was  already  on  its  way 
down  the  river  to  Camp  Argyle  to  take  the  Mallabees 
and  their  menage  on  board. 

Peter  Saint  looked  after  Varick,  and  under  the 
habitan's  skilful  ministrations  the  Secret  Service 
man's  frost-bitten  limbs  were  rapidly  approaching  a 
condition  where  it  would  be  safe  for  him  to  be  moved 


THE  LIGHT  O'  LOVE          323 

on  the  trail  toward  Quebec.  Jensen  spent  the  in 
tervening  time  making  short  and  lonely  exploring 
tours  about  the  vicinity  of  Black  Devil  River. 

There  was  no  pleasant  anticipation  for  him  in  the 
return  journey.  He  was  leaving  the  woman  he 
loved,  leaving  her  forever,  without  having  had  the 
courage  to  declare  his  passion  or  to  learn  his  chances. 
The  realization  of  her  high  station,  the  thought  that 
he  was  a  mere  nobody,  kept  him  from  telling  her  of 
his  love. 

The  boyish  shyness  and  modesty,  inborn  in  his  na 
ture,  would  not  permit  him  to  believe  she  might  really 
care  for  him,  in  spite  of  all  this.  Neither  could  he 
realize  that  there  might  be  something  winning  to  her 
fine  womanly  nature  in  this  very  shyness  which,  man 
like,  he  so  despised  and  constantly  tried  hard  to  fight 
down. 

Varick  was  as  eager  for  the  day  of  return  to  come 
as  Jensen  was  reluctant.  At  last  the  time  arrived 
when  Varick  could  move  about  on  his  feet  without 
pain,  and  Peter  Saint  declared  that  further  delays 
would  only  decrease  their  chances  of  good  weather  for 
the  journey. 

The  dogs  and  komatics  were  made  ready,  four 
teams  of  nine  animals  each,  with  ample  provisions 
and  camping  materials,  so  that  their  trip  might  be 


324     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

taken  in  comfort ;  "  luxurious  ease  "  Varick  termed 
it  as  he  inspected  the  sledge  that  had  been  fitted  for 
the  exclusive  transportation  of  his  own  huge  person. 

It  so  happened  that  the  relief  party  from  the  yacht 
arrived  at  Camp  Argyle  upon  the  eve  of  the  day 
that  had  been  selected  by  Peter  Saint  for  the  start 
toward  Quebec.  Stephen  Mallabee  had  so  far  re 
covered  that  he  was  now  up  and  about,  and  he  decided 
to  immediately  abandon  Camp  Argyle.  Thus,  with 
the  two  departures,  the  entire  camp  was  nothing  but 
bustle  and  confusion. 

The  morning  broke  gray  and  cold.  Breakfast  had 
been  partaken  of  in  the  dining-room  of  the  under 
ground  home  and,  for  the  first  time  during  many 
days,  both  Kerry  Mallabee  and  her  father  sat  at  the 
table  with  Jensen  and  Varick.  Varick  was  in  high 
feather  at  the  prospect  of  getting  back  to  civilization 
and  carried  the  weight  of  the  conversation  during  the 
meal. 

Jensen  was  moody  and  despondent.  Kerry 
Mallabee  addressed  him  pleasantly  several  times,  as 
did  her  father;  but  their  talk  was  confined  to  com 
monplaces  about  the  return  journey,  the  best  spots 
for  camping,  and  how  to  gain  the  greatest  amount  of 
comfort  over  the  hard  trail  in  cold  weather. 

After  assisting  Peter  Saint  to  make  everything 


THE  LIGHT  O'  LOVE         325 

taut  on  the  komatics,  Jensen  returned  to  the  under 
ground  home  with  a  heavy  heart  to  say  farewell  to 
Kerry  Mallabee  and  her  father. 

He  found  them  together  in  the  living-room.  Mal 
labee  was  seated  before  a  glowing  thermal  radiator 
that  furnished  the  only  light  there.  This  morning 
Mallabee  looked  more  as  he  had  when  Jensen  first  saw 
him  in  the  dining  apartment  upon  the  evening  of  his 
arrival  at  Argyle  House.  His  daughter,  who  had 
been  handing  him  some  medicinal  draught  as  Jensen 
entered,  rested  her  tray  upon  a  table,  turned  and 
said: 

"  Boy,  you  are  going  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  haltingly,  fighting  hard  to 
down  the  hunger  that  was  in  his  heart.  "  And  I 
could  not  leave  without  informing  you  and  your 
father  how  greatly  I  appreciate  your  unvarying  kind 
ness  to  me  since  I  came  to  Camp  Argyle.  I  have  not 
deserved  it.  It  was  my  fate  that  I  should  be  forced 
to  play  the  part  I  have  in  your  lives ;  but  I  hope  you 
will  believe  me  sincere  when  I  assure  you  that  at  no 
single  moment  since  I  really  knew  you  was  it  my  de 
sire." 

He  bowed  and  backed  toward  the  door.  At  his 
first  words,  Mallabee  had  risen  to  his  feet.  Jensen 
scarcely  knew  whether  to  expect  an  enraged  denuncia- 


326     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

tion  or  a  cold  and  formal  farewell,  but  he  was  en 
tirely  unprepared  for  what  did  come. 

"  Mr.  Jensen,"  said  Mallabee,  holding  forward  his 
hand  and  speaking  with  something  of  the  old  snap  and 
fire  in  his  voice.  "  You  need  offer  no  apologies. 
My  daughter,  Kerry,  has  made  everything  clear  to 
me.  There  has  been  nothing  in  your  conduct  that 
was  not  compatible  with  the  course  of  true  honor 
and,"  he  added  vigorously,  "  and  loyalty  to  the  land 
of  your  birth.  I  am  very  glad,  sir,  to  shake  your 
hand.  I  shall  hope,  sometime  in  the  near  future,  to 
entertain  you  more  hospitably  at  my  home  in  Mon 
treal.  I  want  to  see  more  of  you,  and,  if  the  States 
have  other  sons  like  you,  I  should  like  to  know  them, 
too.  What  I  have  learned  since  you  came  among  us 
makes  me  feel  that  I  have  never  really  known  our 
neighbors  to  the  south.  I  will  leave  it  with  my 
daughter  to  arrange  the  precise  date  upon  which  you 
can  visit  us  at  Montreal  —  we  shall  be  there  for  sev 
eral  months  —  while  I  impart  a  few  final  instructions 
to  Peter  Saint  before  he  departs." 

After  a  hearty  hand-clasp  Stephen  Mallabee  strode 
from  the  room.  His  cordial  farewell  and  hospitable 
invitation  to  visit  them  in  Montreal  suddenly  raised 
Jensen's  spirits  from  the  depths  of  despair  to  the 
heights  of  elation. 


THE  LIGHT  O'  LOVE          327 

He  turned  to  where  Kerry  Mallabee  stood  beside  a 
low  table.  Her  face  was  shadowed  from  the  light; 
he  could  not  know  what  was  there  as  she  said : 

"  Father's  illness  has  prevented  me  from  telling 
you  before  how  faithful  my  gallant  knight  has  proved 
to  the  trust  I  put  in  him.  Father  realizes  now  that 
what  I  did  was  wholly  for  the  best  and  he  has  for 
given  me.  Can  you,  Boy,  forgive  me  for  having 
made  you  a  party  in  my  efforts  toward  bringing  him 
to  a  realization  of  what  his  great  plan  really  meant  ?  " 

She  came  a  step  nearer,  held  out  her  hand  and, 
coming,  stepped  into  the  warm  upward  beat  of  the 
light. 

He  saw  her  face  with  its  halo  of  golden  hair,  her 
sad  eyes  with  their  tender  appeal  that  had  never 
failed  to  draw  him  since  the  first  moment  he  had  met 
her. 

He  did  not  immediately  take  her  proffered  hand. 
If  she  expected  to  leave  him  with  this  sort  of  a  formal 
farewell,  she  was  mistaken,  he  thought. 

As  she  raised  her  face  in  wonder  at  his  failure  to 
grasp  her  hand,  he  gazed  for  one  instant  into  her 
eyes  with  all  the  heartache  that  was  consuming  his 
soul. 

Then,  before  she  could  speak,  before  she  could 
move,  he  had  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  was  crush- 


328     A  SIREN  OF  THE  SNOWS 

ing  her  to  his  breast  as  he  breathed  into  her  listening 
ears: 

"  Girl !  I  am  not  going  to  leave  Camp  Argyle 
without  telling  you  that  I  love  you.  I  love  you,  you, 

you." 

He  searched  her  eyes  again.  Then  his  lips  found 
hers ;  willingly  she  returned  him  kiss  for  kiss. 

"  You  really  care  for  me,  Girl  ? "  he  asked,  after 
the  first  moment  of  wild  joy  had  spent  itself. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  she  answered.  "  Haven't  I  told 
you  so  in  a  hundred  different  ways  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  little  smile 
of  puzzled  surprise. 

"  Boy,  boy  always,"  she  murmured  happily. 
"  But  I  love  you  for  it.  Oh,  I  do  love  you  for  it" 


THE   END 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 
Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


158  01321  7020 


001  248  051 


